Revisionist History
by Burn Our History
Summary: A/U. Jen/Drue fic coinciding with the S5 time frame.
1. Intrusion

Summary: Drue and Jen are both in their first year of college. Each is living in Boston, but have remained out of touch since an encounter that took place right before Drue left Capeside. Basically, it is a version of S5 that we were never allowed to have because Drue was MIA after S4.

Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.

**Revisionist History**

**Chapter 1: Intrusion**

Her laughter, perfectly quiet, drew him to her in the most literal sense. Before he could be stopped, his arm was outstretched and his fingers were twisting loose strands behind her ear. The sound coming from her tapered off into something unsure; when her eyes met with his, a jagged inhalation was all she could manage. He leaned in, tracing the line of her jaw, his fingers coming to rest just below her chin, and brushed his lips against the hollow just below her ear.

She tried to move, to mount some kind of protestation, but her limbs would not cooperate, being as confused and unclear as her thoughts.

His lips fell upon the path his fingers had, his mouth moving down her cheek and across her chin. His need, his desire, for her was obvious. The way his mouth moved against hers, a strange rhythm urging her enthusiastic response, was desperate. He would never say it, but she already knew - there was nothing he wanted more than her.

He pulled away, breaking their kiss. A longing, and seemingly confused, stare sat heavily in the space between them. What would he do? Or should it be she who makes the next move? The questions were overwhelming, the product of a newer Jen, not the Jen he had known in a lifetime that was non-existent to Capeside. Whether he could read the apprehension in her silence, her petrified state, she did not know. The way he stroked her arm, sending a shiver vibrating through their collective skin, frenzied the indecisiveness of her insides.

Almost in a lunge, her mouth was hard against his. Being almost a foot taller, he grabbed her around her midsection, lifting her from the floor. Her legs wove around his waist, pulling his body against hers. She could feel his arousal through his clothes and her own as he eased her back against a piece of low-standing furniture. Her own was less obvious to him but she could feel an ache, tight and burning, pulsing between her legs. Her body was pleading to be touched in a way that only he seemed to know at the moment.

The heat of his breath on her throat was intoxicating, and each touch - by lips, by tongue, by rough fingertips - bordered on excruciating.

She made little work of his clothes, pulling and tugging until his body was bare but partially hidden by the darkness of the room. For a shred of a moment, he stopped. There was doubt etched across his face. He was unsure for the first time.

She could not help but smile at his nervousness.

Her small hands stretched out, over his, and together they guided her top over her head. His hand fell back down, first across her collarbone then over the soft, pale skin of her breast. He brushed her taut nipple with his thumb and her hips, barely resting against the cold foundation of the dresser, bucked against his. He kept his hand moving, under the band of her pants, and over the skin of her thigh. Holding her up, as she gripped the edge to balance her weight, he pulled the material free of her body.

Again, he was momentarily still, drinking in a sight of her that he had only dared dream of before now. Despite her experience, Jen blushed slightly. No one had ever looked at her, appreciating the beauty of her form, the way he was.

It had all been so sporadic, unexpected, that the feelings were a blur, smudges on an otherwise unblemished canvas of perfection. At the time, they seemed insignificant. The movement of his body against hers, the touch of heat against already hot flesh. The sound of her name rolling off his lips as he moved inside of her, each movement more deeply than before. Drue filling her completely, pushing her to the brink and over like no one ever had. What else in the world could matter more than the ecstasy of shared climax. Nothing, not even love, could compare to that.

Suddenly, her eyes were open and she was back in her Grams's living room, curled up in her favorite window seat, her head resting against the cool glass. She was back in Boston. Capeside, and all that happened there, seemed merely a figment of her imagination. Having it play back slowly in her mind, Jen felt like a third party, an intruder; everything she remembered felt as unreal as it had then. The sensations coursing through her - strange arousal, confusion - still as perplexing as was the situation's outcome. She had not seen or heard from him since that night. Even though he was supposed to be living somewhere close, she felt like hundreds of miles separated them as they once had. He may as well have lived next door to Dawson, on the opposite side of the country, for all she saw him.

Questions flooded her thoughts in a rampage, stirring her from a bizarrely, inverted position. Crossing the living room in several exaggerated bounds, she began snapping open cupboard doors and rummaging through their contents.

"Uhm…Jen?" came a male voice. Even with her head buried in the cabinet, she did not have to look up to see that it was Jack standing behind her.

"I'm looking for a phone book," she practically shouted to ensure he could hear her.

"Okay….why?"

"I hear it is a great resource when in pursuit of an individual's phone number. Too, if I cannot find that individual phone number, I can call around to the different schools in the area to find out how I go about getting campus directories."

"Who would warrant that kind of search effort? Especially in this city."

She pulled her head out of the darkness and sat quietly in the middle of the floor, wondering whether or not she could tell Jack without him having a bewildered or, worse, judgemental reaction. He was her best friend, surely, and as such his support for her was certain. Still, history could not be rewritten, feelings could not be changed. The way Jack felt about Jen would not trump the animosity he held towards the one she pursued for the events of the past, no matter how indirect his involvement was.

Her lips began to shape words - Drue Valentine - but all she could manage to say was, "An old friend."


	2. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.

**Revisionist History**

**Chapter 2: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back**

_I think you should never go backwards when you can go forwards.  
__Besides, you know... I was kind of thinking you should look into Boston. It's a real up-and-coming town, the spot to be in, in fact, and, you know, yours truly's going to be there._

"So much for Boston," she muttered as she stood across from a door finished in a faux wood pattern, anchored there by what, exactly, she was not sure. Morbid curiosity, maybe, but her nerve began to seize at the possibility of there being something more to her presence in that hallway.

329, the numbers on the door, hung over a cheap looking message board. His name was scratched in one of the top corners, a myriad of scrawling and doodles adorning the empty space below. One message was scribbled in large, swooping handwriting, insipid hearts dotting the "i's." The sickening swell of jealousy irritated her, taunting her to knock and see if what her suspicions would equate fact. That Drue himself was standing on the other side, typical arrogant grin on his face, staring at her through the peephole, waiting to flaunt the stupid, but equally gorgeous, co-ed in his bed. That he had moved beyond their last night together, replacing her with other transient sexual partners.

Finding him in the proverbial sea of college students that inhabited Boston had been relatively simple, but only by virtue of pure luck. Luck that Drue's reputation preceded him no matter the city, and that one of Jack's fraternity brothers had a chance meeting with Drue during the first week of the semester partying. After a few inquiring questions on her part, and an oath that their conversation would remain between them, leaving Jack none the wiser, on his, Jen managed to learn that Drue was currently residing in the dorms at Boston University.

Now, here she was, a 20-minute bus ride and a short walk from home, vexed by the power of suggestion. She stepped forward, then back, repeating the little dance of trepidation several times before settling back where she had started. Why had she come to this place? He had not once called her, not even just to say hello, relinquishing his status as her friend, and potential boyfriend. Potential, the word that hung heavily over her. It suggested something feasible, something that could be. Or could it? That she wanted - no needed - to know. Or, maybe, she just needed him in whatever way he was willing to have her.

Footsteps came at her from the side, accompanied by a mix of high and low toned voices. One of them could have been Miss Cutesy Handwriting, which made her less than eager to turn and meet them. Still, hearing his distinct voice, solid and saturated with even charm, left her with no other options.

His eyes set on her, surprised; the grin on his face slid into an expression of genuine astonishment.

"Jen."

She wrung her hands, adjusted the strap of her bag, anything to keep her eyes off of him. "Hi, Drue," she paused, looking over at the girls - two of them - and the guy standing behind him. "Judging by your reaction, I'm guessing I'm the last person you expected to see." Her words came out sounding more bitter than she intended, and directed at the others, almost as an accusation. They must have taken that as their cue to leave, the guy slapping Drue on the back as the party disbanded.

"Uh. Yeah, you weren't really on my list of expected guests," he admitted as his key clicked in the lock.

Standing in the entranceway made her appreciate living with Grams more than she already did. The entire room, which she guessed he was sharing with at least one other person, was smaller than her bedroom alone. The volume of dirty laundry would suggest that an army of slovenly, teenaged boys were residing there, whether the were allowed to be or not.

"It's….cozy, lived in," she said in an attempt to be diplomatic.

He threw clothes and extraneous debris onto the floor, in any open place that was otherwise unoccupied, clearing a space for her to sit on the futon. She was hesitant, examining what appeared to be a poorly rigged loft suspending his bed; she had not come here only to be sent to the hospital after being crushed by an extra long, twin bed, much less have her body draped in his dirty sheets. The futon itself only compounded her doubt. All of the sweaty, potentially unprotected fumblings that could have happened on it made her regret wearing a skirt, allowing any part of her skin to touch the mattress.

"It's no worse than living with either of my parents." He forced a smile and continued to move about with no purpose. Over his shoulder, he watched her sit carefully on the fold out, not trying at all to mask her level of discomfort.

He pulled over his desk chair, swinging it around backwards, his body still facing her direction. She suddenly felt claustrophobic. Him being so close to her somehow made the room smaller.

"So…" he uttered, sucking in a long breath.

"So." she replied.

"How are you likin' Boston? I mean, it's no Capeside and that happenin' social scene, but it's not too shabby."

She shrugged, ignoring is obnoxious quips about the place she called home. "I have most of my friends here. Jack and my Grams. Their what's important. Everything else is just a backdrop."

"That must be nice. Having a built in support system. Means you got to skip all of those first week, 'getting to know your fellow freshman' events."

"I didn't, really. Since Jack started doing the whole 'frat' thing, I got dragged to those parties."

"Jack McPhee, resident frat bro and all around party animal. Who'd have thought? You could probably teach him a thing or two on that front."

"Actually. That's how I found you," her volume dropped as the last word came forward, subduing him. "One of his frat brothers said he met you at a party, through a mutual friend. She sounded absolutely lovely. What was it he said? 'Not the brightest bulb on the tree but she knows how to have a good time.' Which in the language of your kind, means she puts out to any and everyone."

The way she was glaring at him, and her insinuation brought heat to his face. "So because some frat guy says a girl is easy, it automatically means I slept with her," he seethed.

"I know you, Drue. If given the opportunity, you don't pass up sex."

_Know me_, he scoffed. He wanted to spit back in her face that she did not know him at all, that she never really wanted to know him. She just assumed such things to ease her own insecurities. He wanted to say that he had not had sex with anyone since her, putting her in her place, but would be too revealing. "That's not just me. That's all males my age. And if you came here to attack me, save your breath. I am not going to sit here and argue with you over some girl I didn't sleep with. Besides, why do you care so much anyway?"

"I don't. In fact, I don't even know why I came here." She snatched up her bag and was at the door when she heard her own name, almost pleading for her to come back.

Pivoting on her heel, she turned to see a stricken face, one that looked so unfamiliar to her. Could this be the way he had looked the night her father kicked him out? Sad, lonely, waiting for her to be on his side but the moment never coming. He looked around the room once as if no one else were there. She realized that this is how it always was, she was always turning her back on him. Only once, that last night, had he ever been the one to leave her.

It felt as if something heavy dropped inside of her, her legs unsteady as if she could crash to the ground in the matter of a second. Knowing now how Drue must have felt, in her presence and her absence, was humbling. Having apologized the year before for using him felt contrite at the moment. Something more was owed to him.

Soft, deliberate steps carried her back to her seat, only she was closer to him this time.

"Drue, I…"

"Forget it. It is just part of our dynamic. I am a jerk, you're a bitch. Every now and then we have a moment where that changes, then everything falls apart. We're damaged that way, both as individuals and together."

She reached out, cupping his face in her hand, forcing him to look at her. "We are all of those things, surely. But knowing it makes us more able to fix it." She inhaled deeply. "I want to fix it, Drue. I wouldn't have come here otherwise. Something about me and you makes proximity a necessity, not an option."

He held her hand against his face, turning his head slightly to nuzzle it. His intention was innocent, needing to feel the affection she was putting forth, but his action was far too suggestive to be ignored.

More accurately, Jen could not ignore the way such a simple gesture made her body tighten, the shot of adrenaline spilling into her blood, causing every nerve in her body to ignite. Her mind was clouding over, except for the glimpses of Drue's body, naked, muscles tensing so that they looked more defined. He had been a glorious site to see when stripped of all his clothing and the memory of it drove her to act against her better judgment.

She leaned forward, and their lips locked over the back of the chair. Obviously surprised, he gripped either side of her face, ensuring that she would not pull back immediately. She moved around to the front of the chair and he turned his body to mimic her direction. She stood hunched over him, their tongues tangling. He reached for her hips, sliding her down onto his lap. Her skirt, which had worried her before, was now sliding up, providing Drue the opportunity to run his fingers over the exposed skin of her thighs. A moan escaped her mouth, crashing against the back of his throat, as he moved his hands under her skirt, squeezing her perfectly round ass. Her pelvis ground against his as his teeth sunk into her sweet smelling throat.

His hands moved easily to her face, and though she fought against his strength, he held her still as he pulled back. The frustrated pout of her lower lip was exquisite and he could not help but run his thumb over it. Her mouth opened ever so slightly as he did, catching the tip of thumb, sucking each before slowing moving to the next. The warm, wet sensation was irresistible and he almost did not know how to respond. The months without her had seemed to stretch out longer now than they had when he was living them.

But was this it? He wondered as she caught his ear gently in her teeth, nibbling it first before moving down to his neck. Constructing a thought was almost impossible but he forced himself to try.

If he did not want he and Jen to end like they had back in Capeside, they had to have more than just this, no matter how good this was. They had to build on something deeper, fix what was broken between them like she said. As much as he did not like the idea of stopping, he knew it would be necessary if he and Jen were to have a chance at what he had always wanted between them.

"Jen, wait…"

She stopped abruptly, the sting of refusal almost immediate. Her mind began to jump to radical conclusions. He did not want her, there was someone else, or worse, more than one other person. The assumptions she had made upon first seeing the room, his bed, the dingy futon, all crowded into her head again.

_Stop it_, she scolded herself. _Stop overanalyzing everything_.

Words continued to roll around in her head, "what," and "why," being the most prominent of them, but she remained silent. Asking obvious questions would probably make her look a greater idiot than the blank stare on her face.

"I'm sorry," Drue said after several seconds of pointed silence. "I just do not want a repeat of last time."

"I don't understand." Even though, in part, she did.

He could not resist smiling, and combing back tangles of mussed hair from her face. "Jen, you did not come here for this. And as much as I am going to hate myself for doing this later, we both know that this is a bad idea."

She eased off of him, straightening clothes, trying not to look as mortified as she felt. "You are right," she said, looking back at him, "We should not be doing something as fleeting as having sex."

"Well, fleeting may not be the fairest assessment. I think I've gotten a fair bit better at it than that. I think I would rank in the category of 'not too shabby' by now."

Before she could stop herself, she was laughing. He had managed to ease the awkward tension by simply being who he was. She was grateful for that, and for the reminder that there was more to him than she ever let herself see. "You know what I mean."

"I do. Friendship is longstanding and we need to have that, otherwise we're going to end up the same way we did when you left New York, and when I left Capeside." He paused for a thoughtful moment. "Second chance's don't come around often, and third chances are nearly impossible to get. We have one, though. And, this time, maybe we'll get this whole friends thing right."

The corner of her mouth raised slightly, confirmation that he had voiced the exact thoughts in her head. "So, we'll hang out then. Maybe have lunch next week?"

"Sounds like a plan," he said as he opened the door for her, "You're in the book, right? So I can give you a call."

She nodded and walked towards the stairs. "I'll be under Ryan, Evelyn."

He was about to close the door when he heard a playful innotation in the sound of his name.

Poking his head back out the door he said, "Yeah?"

She was standing there, her head turned over her shoulder. "You should know, as my friend, that girls who use hearts in their writing annoy me."

He glanced at the board on the door, a smirk on his face, then back at her winking as she turned again.


	3. In Your Defense

Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.

**Revisionist History**

**Chapter 3: In Your Defense**

Jen sipped her spiced cider, sweet and warm, as she watched brown and yellow leafs skip and stumble between hurried feet. Fall semester was passing by so quickly and she realized that her experience of Boston was limited. Her haunts were relegated to the bustling student epicenters of Boston Bay - the dining hall, the library, the radio station where she worked - and, from time to time, she even allowed herself to be dragged to a party or bonfire. Everywhere she went, there were a crush of people, her supposed peers. She hardly had a chance to absorb the hidden beauties that existed along the edges of college life, which were plentiful in a town like this.

She had allowed Drue to choose their meeting spot, under the guise of him knowing the type of place that would appeal to her. This place, a contemporary, quirky café, she had to admit, was just her style. It was small, and had the flavor of a similar, all-night coffee shop in New York, where the two of them would crash after a night of partying. Almost abandoned during the mid-afternoon hours, there was time for her thoughts to run wild, to collect and collapse without any interruption.

As much as she had grown to accept, and simultaneously loathe, the person she was in New York, she could not help but be nostalgic for the time where she had the luxury of sitting up half the night, laughing or crying, sharing secrets with a confidant. In those days, everyone had heard of Jen Lindley, party girl extraordinaire, and many claimed an acquaintance. Much like Boston, she had always caught up in a tide of strangers in New York. True friends were limited to the point of her only recalling one. One who she had gone looking for and found. One who had picked a place like this, that was so perfectly her.

Sitting by the window, watching the sidewalk for his face in a crowd, brought her back to the freedom of being the other girl, the quiet, sad-faced girl, who had hopes and dreams to share. The girl who just wanted to be loved but could never find the person to fit the need. Maybe this place had reminded him of a girl who only he got to see.

_Or maybe_, she thought, _the real reason you like this place is that it's tucked away from the watchful shadows of Boston Bay_.

Her enjoyment of the spot quickly took a tale spin, leaving her with the sense of all too familiar guilt. Hiding her friendship with Drue had been no feat at all, really. Jack was wrapped up in the daily tribulations of college life. He spent most of his time at the fraternity house, practically living there. Grams was not one to monitor Jen's incoming calls, much less have a caller ID. Jen was free to talk with Drue whenever she wanted, about whatever. Meeting him out of plain view, though, required discretion. No one could not see them together just yet, for any number of convoluted reasons she could construct, and he could not know they were incognito. He would not be able to maintain an air of complacency if he knew he was a dirty secret and she could not expect him to. If the tables were turned, she would be infuriated by such a deception on his part.

The prospect of such a reaction beat against her and, combined with the chime of the opening door, shook her to active consciousness. It was only then she noticed Drue walking towards the table.

"It is good to see that some things never change," he said as he pulled up the chair across from her. Seeing her for the first time in a week, his expression suggested it was like seeing her for the first time all over again. She forced herself to repress the excitement of someone looking at her the way he did.

"I take it you mean my drink," she tipped the mug nestled in her hands. "But you'll be happy to know I laid off the caffeinated foam."

He nodded. "Got sick of that raw after taste of that sludge, I presume."

"And, I presume, you picked this place because you remember my propensity for sludge."

"That was part of it," he said with a wink, a signal that he remembered their New York stomping grounds just as clearly as she did.

The waitress came over, taking Drue's sandwich order as she glanced him over twice. The suggestion in her eyes was obvious, her body language telling. She was opening her stance toward him. Flirting was one thing. What she was doing registered on a different scale.

"They just can't seem to help themselves," Jen commented as the pretty, 20-something walked away, taking a last, long look over her shoulder.

He was oblivious to her meaning until his gaze met with the end of hers, turning the waitress's cheeks pale pink when she knew she was caught in the act. "Not my type, really."

"Do guys really have types? I mean, outside of "gorgeous," or, "easy."

"I can't speak for all men…"

"…being a rare specimen yourself," she interjected.

"Exactly. But I can say that I do. And it is not her. There is nothing particularly special about her."

Jen scrunched her nose, her cheeks popping up. Special was what he was looking for, whatever that entailed. Upon further examination, she tried to pinpoint what made this dark-haired girl void of the title. If she were taller, curvier, with different colored eyes, would she be special? With a slight shake of the head, Jen discredited her own theory. Drue admired beauty, like any man, but allowing his softer side to be exposed with a single word meant, at least to her, that he could not be so shallow that exterior was all that would matter.

Her quiet observation, her head bobbing from side-to-side, made for subtle amusement. Even her thought process was adorable, the way her head cocked and her lips pulled back in when she looked displeased with something. "What are you thinking? You look as if you have a tic or something," he chucked.

"Oh, nothing. Just…." The devil on her shoulder started whispering possible lies, always having the winning words. "I was wondering why you didn't go to your Mom's alma mater. You could have gotten in there quite easily."

"The same reason you didn't go to your dad's. It's easier to separate yourself from the dysfunction if familial reminders are limited."

"Good point. I foresee a psychology degree in your future," she teased.

"And you should skip school all together and start doing stand-up with material like that," he said with a smirk.

"Okay, okay, if not psychology, then what? And womanizing doesn't count."

The ease with which a smile formed on her face, the snap of laughter behind her words, brought him relief. Similar words had cut him off at the knees, which had been her intention at the time. Those harsh words had been more painful for him than any uttered by either of his parents. Unlike them, Jen was capable and willing to see that there was more to him. She was making an effort, sky rocketing the value of his self-worth.

"I'm not entirely sure yet. My advisor said that being undecided during the first couple years is pretty common."

"Really? Mine started throwing ideas for majors at me from the moment I stepped in the door," she said.

"Hearing that, I get the feeling mine was just saying that because she didn't see much potential."

She laughed but before she could respond, she heard, "Sounds like maybe she is just highly intuitive, Valentine."

Standing over her shoulder, Jen could feel his eyes, scorching blue, boring down on Drue with animosity, disdain. When she finally turned around, Pacey's expression had shifted to puzzled, questioning.

"Witter. Didn't think I'd see you around these parts, what with no academic prospects and that nasty business between you and Potter."

Jen saw the warning as Pacey's face screwed up into a wild grin. He was set off by Drue's presence, his barbs only infuriating him more, and it would not take much for him to launch. Another comment, another smart remark about anything at all, would land Drue with a black eye and a broken nose.

"Ah, man. I missed these clever exchanges. Hey, you know what would be great fun? If we stepped outside and…"

Jen almost jumped out of her seated position, "Pace, can I have a word with you. Thanks," she said, pushing her body against his with force enough to move him several steps before he gave way, moving toward the door on his own.

He plodded the sidewalk, back and forth several times, and inhaled deeply before speaking again. "So what's the deal, Jen?"

She saw a chance, however slight it might be, that she could bring him to her side. Making an ally of him would benefit her when it came time to tell the others.

But what to say? She could not share the raw, blinding truth with him mostly because she was not sure she knew it herself. Even what she did know was not totally consistent with what she was willing to accept. When it came to Drue, feelings were unpredictable and undefined. Much like the future of her academic career, Jen had yet to make any concrete decisions about him. All she could see was the present and that's all she could reveal to Pacey.

"He's my friend. We're hanging out." It sounded lamer out loud than in her head.

"On the other side of town, where no one who goes to, oh…Boston Bay or Worthington would think to stop for a coffee to warm up or a bite."

"He goes to Boston U and doesn't have a car. This is close to his campus, no far for him to walk."

"I'm trying to be patient with you Jen but you need to stop insulting my intelligence. Cut the act and admit you didn't want anyone to know."

"Can you blame me? The way you came at him. You almost kicked him all over the café." Her head sloped, avoiding his gaze.

"I treat him?? You did hear what he…."

"Yes, I heard him. But he was only responding to your attack, Pace. He is not quite the villain you make him to be," she said quietly, almost whispering. She was about to burn bridges for Drue and she could hear the silent screech of indistinct voices advising against it. Looking at him through the glass, picking aimlessly at his sandwich while the waitress droned at him mindlessly, she forced herself to believe it was worth it, even though her confidence in his loyalty was shaking as hard as her insides at the moment.

Pacey was at a loss, for appropriate words, for thought. For anything. All he could manage was to watch her, watching Drue. Something about her looked different. She held the stance of a woman willing to fight for the first time. "You've always possessed that knack, haven't you?"

"Hmmm?"

"For seeing the good in people who probably don't deserve it. I mean, you always saw it in me, even when I was hurting everyone around me. And, obviously, you see it in him, though I can't imagine why. I mean, that has to be it, right? You see something in him that no one else can?"

"I am not entirely sure. I see a man who knows me, who knows my past better than anyone else ever will because he lived it with me. He has seen the very worst of me, on a daily basis, but he has never judged or abandoned me." She looked at Pacey. "You should know, better than most, what that feels like. To have someone who sees at you as something more than the sum of your mistakes."

He sighed. "It is a good feeling, knowing that someone can.

"So does that mean you aren't going to tell anyone?"

"I don't see how I could. Especially considering you have kept so many of my secrets, including one recently."

She smiled, knowing Pacey was in her corner, even if he was only willing to make a roundabout promise to her. "I am not asking you to like him. I would never do that to you. And I hate asking you to lie to anyone. I just…I need this for me, right now."

He scooped her under one arm, squeezing her shoulder. "I know you do. That's why I am doing this." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "So I'll let you get back to it. I have some errands I need to run before work."

She felt uplifted as she sat back down across from Drue.

"So what's the damage?" he asked tentatively.

"There is none," she said, concentrating on the grain of the table. "Unless you hurt me. In that case, he is going to break your legs."

"I will so enjoy robbing him of the pleasure he would take in maming me."

Her head shot up, seriousness streaking her dilated pupils. "You need to stop being such an ass. I know he provoked you and your knee jerk reaction is to go back and forth but it doesn't help anything. How am I suppose to defend you to my friends if you aren't even civil?"

"Is that what you were doing out there? Defending me?"

"He would have put your head through that window. What else was I going to do?"

"You could have let him. But you didn't." He watched her again, looking for any trace of meaning behind her actions, other than the obvious.

"No, I didn't. Because I don't want him to go to jail…or you to get hurt."

He stared down at his half-eaten food, feeling a bit like a child guilty of gross misbehavior. Pacey meant something to her, that much he knew. He had watched them talk in the limo before the prom. When they thought they were alone, unobserved, the way they responded to each other spoke volumes to Drue. It also spoke to him that she would challenge something solid, like her friendship with Pacey, in defense of something as unstable as their own friendship. She could have allowed herself to be swayed by Pacey's opinion of him, but instead she chose to trust her own. When she could have left him there, sitting alone in place that reminded him of her, she chose to stay.

"Whether you believe it or not, Jen, that means something."

She nodded, acknowledging the gravity of Drue's understanding, his trust. She would not have to ask him to behave civilly from that point on. He would simply do it.

_If you ever get up the nerve to bring him into your life._

She blinked hard, trying to forget her own thoughts. Seeing his face, his eyes swimming with something resembling the deepest form of gratitude, she felt low.

He tapped her leg gently with his toe, feeling slightly abashed at flirting like an 11-year old. "Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm just a little drained after all of that. I really just want to go home and take a nap. But I don't want to bail on you, " she admitted.

"Well, it's understandable. I hear that a lot from girls. I mean, spending alone time with me can really wear you out," he said, a class Drue-like smirk was spreading across his face.

She rolled her eyes, wanting to respond with a snappy comeback but all she could do was reciprocate with her own grin. As long as they could keep on like this, she thought, then everything would be okay. As long as he could make her laugh, and remind her how much seeing her do so mattered to him, everything else would fall in to place. It would have to.


	4. Faultless

Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.

**Revisionist History**

**Chapter 4: Faultless**

He felt ridiculous laying on his futon, staring at her number on his phone screen. His thumb hovered over the talk button then he pulled it back, a process he had run over and over, at least ten times, in a five minute span.

"Dude, will you just call her, already? I don't know if there's anything more pathetic than you right now."

Drue looked over at Tommy, his roommate, who had not turned around to deliver the dig. He was engrossed in schoolwork, something that Drue should have been concerned with himself but wasn't. The better part of his day had been spent much like the last five minutes, with him in constant debate over whether or not to call. Maybe Tommy had a point, he thought. Maybe he _was_ being pathetic. He had dialed her number a dozen times before without any hesitation, but those calls were more of leisure than of purpose. He liked hearing the sound of her voice, the trill of her laughter, and he took pleasure in imagining the faces she made when she was reacting to his words. Quite often, he had to pull himself back, his mind carrying him a bit farther into a realm of intimacy than it should have when it came to Jen.

In the weeks since their first encounter, then the one in the café, they spent virtually all of their time together. Whether it was because Jack was otherwise engaged or because she genuinely wanted to be around him, regardless of other circumstances, was of little concern. She was there, and that was all that mattered. She spent so much time at his dorm that Tommy had adopted a look, suspicious while at the same time knowing, whenever he walked in and they were together. He had even taken to making himself scarce when he knew that Jen was going to be around. Not that Drue minded. With no one around, they could speak freely.

Mostly, it was idle chatter. They shared stories - some funny, some embarrassing - about their daily lives on separate campuses. There were times when she griped about the idiot she worked with at the radio station - a Boston Bay freshman named Charlie who just would not get the hint and take no for an answer - or she would speculate about the changes she observed, and disliked, in Jack. He could hear her sadness over the latter through her poorly made attempts to hide. He tried to be sympathetic and, some of the time, it seemed that she accepted his gestures as such. The truth was, however, that he was elated that she used him as a source of outlet, that she opened the doors to her life and let him in. All of the apprehension that she felt in the beginning, all of the tension that existed on her part, had given way to a greater necessity. For so long, he had not dared to allow himself to believe she would ever get there, that she would ever need him for anything. Now, though, she did, and he never wanted to let it go.

That was why this phone call was so difficult. And why every time he saw her name appear on his caller id, his nerves ceased for a second before he could answer. He still had times when he had to steady his voice, himself, just to be able to talk to her. Spending so much time with her had the drawback of intensifying feelings that he tried to keep dormant.

"Do you want me to do it, man?" said Tommy, now sounding annoyed at Drue's lack of initiative. "Because, really, I wouldn't mind talking to her. That is one fine…."

"Seriously, shut up. I'm doing it," Drue snapped, stopping what would undoubtedly be any unsavory commentary about all of Jen's physical attributes and the advantage Tommy would have gladly taken of them. If that was all he could see in Jen, Drue was not at all interested in hearing about it.

He inhaled deeply, pressed the button and listened for the, "Hello?" on the other end.

***

"So, you have a date, huh?" came Jack's voice from the doorway.

Jen, who was rummaging through her closet, glowered at him over her shoulder. "Hardly. I am just going to a Halloween party with a friend." Which friend, she failed to mention.

_Yet again, _a taunting voice reminded her.

This was one of those occasions when she could have told Jack about Drue, but she could not convince herself she was making a bigger deal of the situation than was necessary. But things felt more strained between she and Jack ever since they had come to Boston, he had joined the fraternity, and turned into a nightmarish contradiction of his former self. Springing Drue on him now would be like suicide. As unbearable as Jack could be at times, she did not want to shake the delicate foundation on which their friendship was standing.

It was just easier, better, for her if she kept the secret.

"Grams said it was a guy on the phone. I know it's been awhile, Jen, but usually when a guy asks you to go somewhere with him, it's a date."

She was half tempted to argue with him but looking for an outfit was exasperating enough without the added frustration of Jack's constant barrage of questions. "Fine, fine. It's a date."

"Now that's what I'm talking about. So tell me, who's this guy? Is it someone I know?"

"Look, Jack, I have to get ready for this thing tonight, put together a costume and whatnot. So unless you have anything useful to contribute, please just leave me to it."

He looked taken aback, not understanding the source of her hostility. Frustration, yes, but she had become noticeably distant as the semester progressed. He knew that his involvement in the fraternity had a great deal to do with it, but there was something else, something he could not see, causing them to drift. Still, there was really no purpose in fighting with her.

Listening to him walk away was difficult, but she pushed the feeling deep down and focused on the task ahead.

Though her propensity to believe in the supernatural had been all but eradicated after a night on Witch Island, the chance to be someone, or something, other than herself was deliciously appealing. Even if it was only one night, replacing her daily cover with a more trivial one was sweet relief.

The party was being held by several of the adjoining dormitories on Drue's campus. She could rest assured that no one she knew would be there seeing as Pacey and Joey were set to spend a quiet evening in with Jack. Her original plan had been to join them, sitting around and enjoying one another's company, because she had been neglecting them all as of late. She knew where Pacey's mind would jump at the lack of her presence, and Jack's announcement of her "date." Even though he knew nothing concretely, his assumption would make for an uncomfortable feeling of dishonesty among friends on a night of bonding.

She sighed. As much as she knew she was taking advantage, she was not willing to be the bigger person.

Tonight, it would not matter. Tonight, she would not be Jen Lindley the betrayer.

She could be Jen Lindley, the carefree girl. The fun girl. The girl that Drue knew in New York.

In asking her, he was giving her that chance. For the first time, she could shed the guilt she felt and simply be. Her cheeks flushed, feeling more than just indebted to him.

"And now," she said, "The age old question of what to wear."

***

"What are you suppose to be?" he asked, scrutinizing her knee length skirt and the ivory colored sweater slung over her shoulders, held in place by a single, large button.

She examined herself. "A librarian."

"You do know that, traditionally, Halloween costumes for college girls somehow involve the concept of 'naughty,' right?" he pointed out, smiling at how cute she looked in horn-rimmed glasses.

"Well, I didn't want to waste all that naughty on you, Drue. I save it for someone who knows what to do with it. Not a geek in check print pants," she teased, assessing his costume.

He stepped in, reaching around for the small of her back. He pulled her in close, whispering in her ear, "You know the sweater vest and taped glasses turn you on."

If their closeness had not been so tense, she would have burst in to a fit of giggles. As silly as the suggestion was, there was a bit of truth there as well. Even in that absurd outfit, something about Drue awakened a sense in her. One that was not entirely appropriate for two people who had settled so quietly into a platonic routine.

There was a comfort that had grown between them over the weeks. Their casual teasing and banter was that of two people who had known each other far too long, and quite possibly too well. It was safe, she knew, when there was no chance of physical intimacy between the friends. Yet, with Drue, there was always that fine, uncrossable line and the consequences of her tripping over it could be disastrous.

Still, she could not help but enjoy the feel of being close to him.

"Oh you know it," she said as she recovered her faculties and began the short walk from her bus stop to his campus.

The night air had a chill to it but was not too cold for most of the festivities to be held outside. The majority of students were convening in the student parking lot. Halloween staples were given a college twist - bobbing for apples with beer as a substitute for water, dishes filled with candy-flavored sex goodies, and a suggestively themed haunted house - dotted the area. Looking about, and all those dressed for the occasion, she found Drue's assessment of female costumes to be correct - "naughty," "sexy," and downright "slutty" caricatures were in abundance. She pulled at her shirt, feeling a bit overdressed as she saw the glances pass quickly over her and onto the array of flesh that was displayed around her.

Jen always carried an air of confidence, because she knew she was intelligent and, at least to some degree, beautiful. Along with this came a terrible feeling of inferiority. Girls had always been prettier than she was but usually it was not on display. Having to compete with other girls, who were at least marginally more clothed, on a daily basis was one thing. Seeing every one of her own physical imperfections flaunted in front of her by the absence of them in others was more difficult.

Drue could feel her shift into his side. He looked down at her, recognizing her discomfort immediately. He rested his arm across her shoulders. "Let me get you something to drink."

She half smiled and nodded. The last thing she wanted was to be abandoned, lost in a sea of scantly clad co-eds who were wreaking havoc on her self-esteem. She did not, however, want to appear too clingy.

When he broke away, she knew she it would be awhile before she saw him again; wisdom told her that if she started moving about herself he would have a more difficult time finding her. But she could not remain idle. It only made her feel more neurotic, imagining stares and snickers where there were none.

She began to wander around aimlessly, brushing against people as she moved passed, and think about what Jack had said early. The word "date" cluttered her thoughts, spinning them into confused knots.

Jack had one thing right - it had been quite a long time since she had been asked out, much less actually gone on a date. She was not even sure what the etiquette was anymore. Were the rules of dating in college that much different than those in high school? Or were rules simply a thing that did not exist in college? From her experience, people in college did not date. They just hooked up with one another until they unknowingly slipped into the category of relationship or they simply stopped having sex. There were rarely ever titles and with the only actual "dates" occurring between the sheets, there was really no worry over who had to pay for who and what it meant.

Assuming that people did still date, what were the parameters? If the boy asked the girl out, just the two of them, was that a date? She and Drue were alone a lot of the time, sometimes at his request, other times she just showed up unannounced. Hanging out in a dorm room, doing homework could not count as a date, she assured herself, although not entirely convinced. Nothing terribly romantic about that. Then again, most dates she had been on had not been terribly romantic. Halloween parties certainly were not, yet she was here, and he had asked her. They were out. Together.

_Was_ this a date?

The possibility brought its own set of questions. Was it his intention to ask her on a date, if it in fact was one? Luckily, he was not standing right next to her, giving her the chance to blurt out the words. No matter the answer, the question itself could change the dynamic of what they shared into something she was unprepared for. She could not deny that her feelings for him were growing more complicated with the passage of time. Still, she was not sure she would ever be able to sort them out enough to give Drue what he needed in a relationship.

Part of her, though, wanted to be able to.

Looking around, she found one couple stowed away in the partial darkness of a door's archway. She watched as the boy, sporting a James Bond tuxedo, removed his jacket and wrapped it around his girl, pulling her close to him. Jen could not tell what she was suppose to be but in only a corset she was probably chilly. Watching the scene, Jen was reminded her of prom and how Drue had done the same for her. He had kept her from falling over the edge that night, both literally and figuratively, holding onto her. Had she not been so wrapped up in self-pity, so keen on numbing herself then - or even before that - she could have recognized him for the decent guy that he was. She could have seen his potential as a good boyfriend.

_Drue would be a good boyfriend_. She was more sure of it now than she had been standing outside of his dorm room and the thought of it made her smile. She wanted what the girl in the tuxedo jack had; she wanted it with Drue. And she wanted him to want it with her, the way he once had.

"Jen?"

A cold shock shot through her like a shiver as she turned to find Audrey, dawning a pale peach slip dress and a faux crown. "Audrey…what, uh….what are you doing here?"

"Are you serious? It's a party. I'm Audrey. The two are go hand in hand. But what about you? I heard you had a date tonight."

Jen's mind flipped into panic mood automatically. She started to scan the crowd desperately. Drue could not come back now and introduce himself. Audrey knowing was the worst possible scenario and the only one that she had not expected nor planned for.

Her actions did not go unnoticed. "You looking for him? He'll probably be easy to spot in this place. It's all cleavage and fishnets. What does he look like?" asked Audrey.

"He's in a green sweater vest and plaid pants," Jen said, forgetting herself for a moment. She was half tempted to take a swat at her own head but that would have made the situation worse. She needed to compose herself, break away from Audrey somehow, and find Drue. The quicker the exit, the better.

"Is he tall, with dark hair and…gorgeous eyes? Because if so, he's over by that bowl of condoms talking to…"

Jen followed the direction of Audrey's dwindling tone. Drue was standing in the exact spot she had mapped out, cup in hand, talking to a leggy brunette. She reminded Jen of the café waitress with her mannerisms, giving him all of the appropriate "come and get me" signs. This time, however, it was not amusing to her. Drue had been unresponsive to the waitress and her advances. With this girl, he was cordial to the point of encouragement. Not only was he being flirted with, but by all appearances, he was flirting back.

"Nice date you got there," commented Audrey, adding insult to injury, as they watched the girl lean in and wrap herself around Drue, whispering something in his ear.

"It's not a date." Jen croaked, unintentionally unleashing her anger on the wrong person. "He's just this guy I know." The words stuck to the inside of her throat, scratching and tearing like the brutal truth of her realization. He was just that - someone who brought her to a party but gave all his attention to some other, random girl. That was not a friend, and definitely not a date. How momentarily idiotic she felt for believing otherwise.

Audrey shrugged. "If that's your story."

"I'm gonna…go. I'll see you later, Audrey." She did not wait for a response before she slunk away, feeling as defeated as she did betrayed. She knew Audrey was a bit dumbfounded watching her walk away but she was not longer worried about it.

Drue saw her coming, though he was not immediately aware of her state. "Jen, hey, I was just coming to look…"

"I am leaving," she said simply.

The girl looked down at Jen, her expression saying, "Go then." Despite the seething stir within, Jen could not manage to glare back at her.

"What? Why? We just got here," Drue insisted..

"Feel free to stay," she said quietly, tilting her head towards the girl, "Obviously, you have more reason to than I do."

He glanced at his tall friend, who must have taken it as a cue. She gave him a casual departure greeting, and a light touch on the arm as she passed by him. "What's up? You look…upset."

She could not decide what was more infuriating, his vague assessment that could have been made by anyone or how strongly she reacted to it. She wanted to hit him while, at the same time, bury her face in his shirt and give him the chance to explain. She knew she was jumping to unfounded conclusions. There may have been absolutely nothing for him to explain. Still, she had spent her entire evening thinking about him while he was cozying up to someone else was. It made her doubt every truth that she had formed of him in her mind. It erased all the good things, bringing all the negative to the forefront.

"You know what? It doesn't matter. Maybe I got the wrong impression about things. Maybe I was expecting something that wasn't there."

As she said the words, the fear he had had about the phone call, the evening, and the whole of what they were, swelled up in his chest, making him feel sick. They were arguing, like couples did at times, and that stung. It reminded him of what they were not and, by all estimations, would never be. Everything had been blown before it had a chance to take off. All because she felt like he wanted something, someone, more than her. All because he had been too indecisive, too afraid, to actually tell her otherwise.

The whooshing moan of a ghost howled in the background somewhere, dying quickly against the thump of beat less music. Each pump of the bass clocked a long, torturous second.

"I didn't know you felt that way," he said quietly.

"I don't feel any way, Drue. I just want to go." More appropriately, she wanted to run. Far and fast, before he had a chance to see the tears brimming, burning against her eyelids. He was not getting her tears. Not tonight.

"Jen…" he went to touch her arm but her stride kept her out of his reach.

"Just let me go." Her step quickened.

"Can't we talk about this. This whole night shouldn't change the last few weeks."

"I don't want talk. I just want to go home."

"Let me at least walk with you to the bus or get you a cab or something."

"No."

He finally caught her arm. "Don't be stupid. It's getting late and…"

"STOP!" she shrieked, turning dozens of heads in their direction. Two familiar looking faces, having moved out of their hiding spot, were locked on her. She could not help but wonder what they thought about him and her and their stance. If the guy was assuring himself that he would never grab his girlfriend that way, the girl feeling lucky that her boyfriend was nothing like that creep grabbing that girl.

With all eyes on him, he let his hand fall out of frustration. "Fine. Go home." He wanted to say something more biting - a nasty dig about crying to her Grandma like a child. It was sitting on the tip of his tongue but he kept it contained. He did not want to hurt her more than he had. He was not angry with her. Only with himself. Whatever he had done, which he assumed was somehow tied to him talking to another girl, it had been stupid enough to drive her away. He was the idiot. Not her.

Jen forced herself not to stop and look back. Seeing something similar to what she saw that day in his dorm would have weakened her resolve. She would look upon his face and believe that she was tearing them apart, yet again. That this was her fault. She would not allow herself to feel that way, convinced that it was no more hers than it was his. Maybe, she thought, it was no one's fault. Maybe they just were not meant to be together, as anything at all.

The prospect of it had never crossed her mind before, mostly because Jen was largely a non-believer in all things that attach themselves to fate. There was no mystical force in the universe that dictated the "shoulds" and "should nots," in life. Nothing abstract brought people together; nothing abstract kept them apart. Even in the case of her in Drue, it was always something tangible, even expected, that was working against them. Distance, sex, anger. Now, it was disillusionment. It was her allowing hers to overestimate Drue's attention towards other women and underestimate his feelings for her, even though she knew, deep down, that her logic was backwards. She did not need help from fate, she could manage to damage her relationships all on her own.

A bitter snort cut the air in a barely visible puff. Jen pulled her sweater tight around her body. She thought, again, of prom and felt the pang of wanting. She longed for Drue to be the one wrapping her up, for him to be that boy he was that night. Not the boy who wanted to talk to girls in skanky nurse costumes. She could not have expected that he would stop talking to all other females forever, but she had wanted him to focus his attention on her. He wanted him to want to talk to her more than the rest, make her feel like the most important girl in his life.

He was not going to be exactly what she wanted, though, nor could she have expected he would give up who he was for her. She knew better than anyone that changing a man, even a young one, was a fool's errand, even more so than caring for one so flawed as Drue was. In the past few weeks she had allowed herself to overlook the truth of Drue. When she was alone with him, it was so easy to forget that he, like anyone, retains who they are at their core. When they were alone, he seemed like someone completely different from who he had once been. But she saw with her own eyes, his true colors shown true. He was one way with her and completely different when with others. It was a state of males that was so familiar to her, almost as if it were a fond memory, that she could not believe she had missed it in him.

Now here she was, alone, while all her friends were at home, enjoying a rare night of shared company. It was likely that they had sat around the table, eating something warm and savory cooked up by Pacey's expert hand, him bemoaning the fact that they were making a mockery of his culinary prowess by eating over of paper plates. Things would have quickly turned to good natured ribbing, the boys ganging up on Joey because she was an easy target. They would all be laughing and happy that they had the chance to be together.

She had forgone all of that only to be disappointed by someone who, at this very moment, was probably licking his wounds and already chatting with his friend the nurse. Another sign she would have seen if she believed in such things.

The wash of thoughts was perforated by the sound of footsteps, quiet as suspect, behind her. Her attention to their presence and closeness roused an immediate sense of unease. The temptation to look was overruled by the panic of not having a plan. The blood was pounding in her ears and against her scalp. She grabbed her bag from under her folded arms. She thought of offering it to him, rationalizing that he would leave her alone. But burglars did not stalk. They struck quickly, catching a victim off guard, then disappearing without leaving a trace. This man had more sinister and his thoughts stretched beyond the prospect of monetary gain.

Mentally scolding herself, though useless, was rampant. Growing up in New York, she knew better than to walk around alone at night. If only she had not been so irrational and stormed off, away from the safety of a crowd. If only she had let Drue walk her here. If only he had not been so flagrant in his disregard for her. It was easy to blame the present situation on him more than her but there was no reason for it. This time, there was no one to blame but herself.

The feeble words, "Who's there," escaped her lips, but to no avail. Her eyes darted in every direction, looking for a reprieve. All she could find was an empty bus stop, that would in no way provide protection, and two dire looking buildings encroaching on what appeared to be a long, dark alley. It was too cold for any of the windows above to be open. Still, if she screamed loud enough, someone might here. Someone had to hear.

_Please, someone hear._

She darted into the vacant street, making a mad dash for a non-existent escape on the opposite side. She had only reached halfway when she felt two arms, one wrapping around her middle, lifting her feet from the ground, the other clamping down over her mouth. She was being dragged backwards, to the place she had looked upon seconds early.

She kicked legs frantically, and clawed at his grip on her. The echo of any scream was absent, muffled by a gloved hand. Flailing as she was, she knew she was doing herself a disservice. She was going to tire herself soon enough, giving him what he wanted. Not that it much mattered; he was going to have that anyway.

Her body was slammed hard against a cold, gritty surface near the entry of an alleyway. She felt material tearing and skin scraping off in various places. A burst of pain in her right shoulder made her vision blur. Even if his face had been recognizable she would not have been able to see it.

The hand over her mouth slid, a finger giving just enough for her to clamp her teeth down hard. He withdrew it but before she could scream, one hand tightened around her throat while he used the other to strike in the face several times. She could not catch air. Everything was going numb. All she could feel was a hand snaking up her thigh. Knowing what was about to happen, she was almost relieved she was slipping into darkness. Whatever disgusting thing he planned to do in pursuit of his end, she did not want to feel.

There was a pop of bright lights. The rest was nothingness.


	5. Aftermath

Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.

**Revisionist History**

**Chapter 5: Aftermath**

Though her head rested on the pillow, and her eyes were closed, Jen could not find the will to sleep. She could not face the images that she knew existed on the other side of her consciousness. The illusion of sleep, however, kept people and their constant barrage of overwhelming sympathy away.

The mistake was letting anyone find out, she thought.

Not that she had been given much choice in the matter. She was told by the investigating police detective that the only contact information they could find on her was Grams' name and phone number scrawled on the backside of her driver's license. It was only by chance - or a stroke of bad luck, as she saw it - that Jack, Joey and Pacey were the only ones in the house when the call came through. It was obvious when they practically burst through the emergency room doors, frantically searching for her that they had not been regaled with the details of her condition. And it was clearly written on their faces when they saw her that maybe it was better that they did not know.

She had been hit her harder than she remembered. Her face blossomed with blackish swellings, a small cut lay open across her left cheek. She could not move her right arm much due to a dislocated shoulder. The rest of the scrapes and bruises covering her body were similar to those on her face. Seeing it all in her reflection the next morning, Jen knew why each of them had not been able to stifle a cringe at the sight of her. She was an assault on their senses, their mental well being, shattering their notion of security.

In the days that followed, Jen was curtailed into some alternative existence that gave her further cause to pull herself inward. Grams, who had adopted a frazzled persona that in no way resembled the strong, steady woman Jen had always known, felt that her granddaughter need not ever be on her own again, Jack was recruited to be at her side during all of her outward excursions, if she ever again decided to leave the house. She had been excused from classes for a week due to doctor's notes and Gram's persistence. Whether they liked it or not, her professors were forced to understand her circumstances. She had no desire to work at the radio station, which pleased Grams immensely considering her shifts were generally the later evening hours.

Now, she could hear the click of heels, presumably Joey's, or maybe even Audrey's, on the hardwood floors below her. The whispers of each and all of her closest friends - save Jack, who was running house errands with Grams - were muffled by insulation. They had been holding what resembled a constant vigil for the last three days, occasionally peeking in on. It was like they were waiting for assurance that she could be without pain, live without fear. That she could be Jen again.

How could she be expected to revert back, though? How could was she suppose to "deal" with such ravages on her own safety when around her, the complicity with such indecency ran rampant.

Because it is okay, she thought.

She lived in a society that criminalized her role as a victim more than it did the man, or boy, who did this to her. Not many would say so aloud, especially not anyone she knew personally, but the attitude would be reflected dually in the response. The pursuit of her attacker would be an all consuming project for some set of detectives for the next several weeks. Then, the leads would dry up, the case would go cold. No one would say it, but her case would fall into a mix of others like it. She would end up another box in a basement labeled "unsolved." Forgotten.

It would then be up to her to live everyday as normally as possible, the only person unable to emotionally undo the aftermath of such an injustice. No matter how she would try, she would be plagued by the thought that this man was walking around as freely as she was. That there was always be the slightest possibility that he could be walking down a street behind her or standing next to her in a grocery story line.

And she could not reveal such fears and have everyone she loved eventually realize that their hope was in vain. That they would never again look at her and see the girl they once knew. The less she was around them, the less she was reminding them of such a thing. Her best defense was to stay quiet, distant. As little time as she had to spend with them, the better.

If she suspected someone near to the door, or approaching it as such, she curled herself up so tightly, shielding herself from further assault on her waking presence. She wanted them all to go back to their lives, leaving her in peace.

"Jen?"

Dawson - who had hurried back to Boston from a film festival he had been attending - had opened the door a crack. He felt a little invasive but he had noticed the day before that even the slightest rattle or rap started her. Better her agitation manifest itself on an external source than ravage her psychologically.

She rolled over to face him, offering little more than a vacant expression. She could feel the discomfort of her stare reflecting back to her in his eyes. He looked desperate to ease what he perceived as suffering; a dreamer more than a man, his intention was always to heal, to save, in the most impossible ways. She knew he would have listened but the last thing Jen wanted to do was talk. She had spent hours pouring over the incident with the police. The intricate details failed her and no matter how many different ways the same questions were asked, she could not remember what he looked like or what he smelled like. She could not recall the simplest things like his height or build, just that he was stronger than she was. It was all just a dark quagmire; it was all reflected in her nightmares.

"You, uhm, you have a guest downstairs that everyone is presently gaping at," he said.

Still, there was no reaction. Her natural fear response was absent, even though she knew who Dawson meant.

"I am not really up to company," she replied, her voice as flat as her eyes.

"Okay, but I think that you may want to make an exception in this case because it is…quite unexpected."

"To you, maybe. Not to me."

Again, he looked befuddled. He had not been in Boston all that long so his misunderstanding was within the scope of reason. Yet, he had looked upon the faces of his friends and the only one who seemed to have any knowledge of how Drue Valentine had ended up on Grams doorstep was Audrey. She had called him Jen's date from the party.

"But, Jen, how could…"

"Just send him up, please. I am tired and I want to get this over with."

Before Dawson had time to be gone, a light tapping came at the door. The temptation was to let Drue stand there, knocking and wondering. But she had not spent an extended period of time away from him in several weeks. Most of their separations could be measured in the amount of time it took to go to class, and commute between the campuses via bus or cab. Three days felt like an eternity, especially when the days were full of nothing. She knew she should have felt differently - though she was unsure as to what, exactly, she was suppose to be feeling - but she could not resist the urge to need him, knowing that he was so close by.

"Come in," she said, faintly.

When he did, she thought she saw what others saw in her. Shades of a broken spirit. He was the only one who could look more horrible than she did. Maybe it was the guilt of staying away. Drue was certainly no white knight, but she knew that not knowing what, exactly, had happened to her that night while having suspicion that she was the girl that people had been talking about - the 18-year old Boston Bay freshman who had been attacked near the Boston University campus - had been eating at him. It was that not knowing that had driven him to this place, face to face with all of the answers he had hoped against hope were nothing more than wrong assumptions.

"Hey." It was all he could seem to muster.

She sat up, pulling her knees so tightly to her chest that she found it almost hard to breathe. "Hey yourself."

"Dawson said you were a little worse for wear but…" He had not expected this. She looked destroyed. Like whoever did this had stripped all the beauty and life from her. It was as if whoever had done this to her had stolen away with the whole of who Jen Lindley was and left behind the shell of a girl.

"So…you going to ask me what happened?" she asked after a long silence.

He shook his head. "It's pretty evident what happened."

"And what about the things that aren't so obvious?"

"I just figured if…if he had done that, you wouldn't want to talk about it. And if you wanted to talk about it, you'd bring it up." Truthfully, he had purposefully avoided the topic. Seeing her was difficult enough. Thinking of some stranger, whose intention was to do harm, touching her in that way, a way he once had, made his insides lurch.

"I wasn't. Apparently, the headlights of the bus spooked him and he ran off before he had a chance."

Somehow, her words brought him no relief. As he was sure that hearing them from a doctor, after being prodded in the most intimate places, had not brought her any either. She escaped the initial trauma of rape only to be humiliated by the unnecessary examination.

"Everyone downstairs seems a little on edge," he said, changing the subject. "Joey nearly dropped a plate when I said hello. In fact, they all looked a little surprised to see me."

She signed, knowing the discussion was inevitable. Drue was never to overlook the obvious. "They didn't know we were hanging out. That you were here, that we are friends."

"You didn't tell them." There was no hint of question in his voice.

She could feel the sharp ice of his blue eyes hard against the side of her face. "No. I didn't."

"Because you didn't want them to know." Again, a quiet accusation, not a question.

"Simple answer? No."

There was the truth, glaring and harsh. He was a dark spot. She got to have him at little expense to herself, but his worth was not so fulfilling that she would exalt it.

He then wondered why he'd come to check on her.

Before she had a chance to mount a defense, a confused voice came from across the room.

"Drue…"

There stood Jack, looking from one face to the other, finally settling on Drue. "What…uh…what are you doing here?"

Jen's throat hardened, words scraping against her vocal chords. All the explanations were preformed, the reactions immediate, as if she had been waiting for this death blow for too long. But her projection failed and only rasping heaves were emitted.

"I just came to check on her after the other night," said Drue, gathering himself up, off the bed, "But I was just leaving."

The momentary salvation was plagued by coldness. He was detaching - physically and, worse, emotionally. This was not how anything was meant to happen. It was always Jack finding out. Jack blowing up. Jack leaving. Drue was turning the tables. He was doing all of the things she expected Jack to do and she had not prepared herself for the fallout.

"That's cool, but I meant…I guess I just didn't know you were around, much less that you knew about the att… Wait, how did you know when this happened?

Before she even had a chance to find her bearings, Drue was in the hallway with Jack on his heals. "Hey, wait. Seriously. How did you know? She hasn't talked to anyone in days and the only other people who knew about the whole thing probably didn't get in touch with you." As he spoke, the truth began to dawn on Jack.

He had dug his own grave and, judging by the color of rage rising against Jack's face, any chance of them remaining amiable was out the window. Not that he felt he deserved Jack's understanding, or anyone else's. "I was with her at the party. In fact, I was the one who invited her."

"Then how the hell did this happen?! If she was suppose to be with you, how did she end up getting jumped, and damn near raped, in a dark alley?" seethed Jack.

"We had a fight. She wanted to leave. I wanted to walk with her but…she was really upset, practically screaming." He forced himself to look Jack square in the eye. "I regretted letting her go as soon as I did it. It was stupid. I…"

"Get out," Jack breathed while Drue was still tripping over apologies. "And don't come back under some bullshit pretense of checking on her. We both know you lack that kind of human compassion."

"You know what? I messed up. In a huge way. And I know it. But don't presume you know the first thing about me or how I feel about that girl. I may not give a damn about anyone but she's not just anyone."

It sounded convincing to Drue though he did not want to mean it. He wanted to be furious at her. But the other part of his heart, the strongest, most potent part was shooting signals that made it impossible to scorn her.

"I know all I need to know about you. I know that you hurt the people you're around."

Drue felt the words deeply, but not for the reasons Jack had intended them. He imagined Jen, laying in that alleyway, dirty pavement the only thing holding her close. Jack was right - he had hurt Jen. And the reality of it was compounded by the fact that someone else hurt her as a result of his actions.

Dawson, who had appeared from the kitchen, looked at Drue over Jack's shoulder. "Jack, maybe…"

"Stay out of it, Dawson," he snapped.

Drue gave Dawson a slight shake of the head, indicating that there was no point in interjecting himself in the quarrel, especially considering Drue had no intention of goading Jack any further. He was walking way before Jack had the time to process any further attack strategies.

"I can not believe that guy," Jack said, the inflection of dire truth in his words.

Dawson patted his shoulder. "There is no point in worrying about it now. Focus on Jen and helping her…"

"I need to talk to her." He stomped up the stairs again, nearly slamming the door against the room's interior.

Jen stared at him while trying to contain the forceful shutter of her whole body.

"You're not going to say anything, are you?"

"What is there to say, Jack? You know he is here." If she had said it from the beginning she would not be fighting with him. Drue would not have left. Maybe, just maybe, nothing bad would have happened if she had just been completely honest. Even if it had, it could not have been worse than it was now.

"The party…the date…"

"I never said it was a date, you did. And, yes, I went with him. I have been spending a lot of time with him in these last few weeks."

He paced in the hallway, standing squarely in her door when he felt the need to point an accusing finger. "He let this happen to you."

"No. I let this happen to me because I was walking around in a relatively unfamiliar city at night."

"He should have been with you, protecting you," he yelled.

"I didn't want him to," she shouted back, trying to match his volume.

"So you have been lying about spending all of your time with a guy who ditches you at a party and lets you get attacked."

"How would you know how much time I have spent with him. You're never around anymore to know, Jack."

"That's not fair."

"And taking this all out on him, via me, is?"

"What, I'm not allowed to be angry at him, now?"

"The only one that is allowed to be angry about anything at all is me. This happened to me. Because of me," she repeated, tears streaking her face. "You can't blame him for not being there if you aren't going to blame yourself."

Jack stopped. For the first time, he began to feel the weight of responsibility bearing down on him. His best friend was lying in bed, afraid of things he could not begin to imagine, and it could, in part, be his fault.

"I…I have to go," he said absently.

"Jack, wait…I didn't mean it like that."

She heard the front door slam shut. Then tires squealed against the blacktop.

Everything was quiet again. Too quiet. She knew everyone in the house had heard them. Somehow, she just could not manage to care.

Jack was gone. He would come back though. And she would explain everything to him, apologizing for such a harsh accusation. They would be okay. She wished she had believed in that, in them, from the beginning.

Drue was gone too. But he might not ever come back.

"Stupid, stupid," she swore under her breath as Dawson appeared in the doorway again.

"So Drue Valentine, huh?" he said making his way through the room, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

She nodded. "In the flesh. Ripping my life apart like he always has."

Dawson tried to pry the meaning from the deep, emptiness of her gaze. Part of him believed her words, even if there was little true feeling behind them, because he had cause in his own past to feel them. A hundred times or more, he had felt like the one he loved had uprooted his life in irredeemable ways. Granted, Joey was not Drue and the relationship he shared with her was vastly different than the one Jen shared with Drue. He could never presume that it was any more or less meaningful, though, mostly because he knew so little about Drue. Jen, though, was a different story. If nothing else, he knew at least some of the delicate intricacies of her inner working. They were what made her incredible, more so than almost anyone he had ever known. Whether she had known Drue for 5 minutes or 5 years made no difference to a girl like her. Duration was not a guide or a hindrance. Just a mark of existence. Jen knew what was beneath all of the bluster the minute she set eyes on a character like Drue Valentine. Whatever she drew her in, kept her engaged. Something about Drue made her need him. "Sometimes, the people who challenge us most, to the point of absolute self-destruction, are the ones who enhance our lives in ways we can't live without," he observed.

Her eyes turned, her head remaining immobile, in his direction. Typical Dawson, giving defense where none had been earned. Or even necessary, if she thought about the matter. It was her actions, not Drue's, that had brought the crash of Jack's wrath down upon her, just as she imagined it would.

"Do you think I am terrible for choosing him over Jack?" she finally said.

"You weren't choosing anyone over anyone else. Nor should you have to, because that is not the way friendship should ever be. No one knows that better than I do." He chuckled softly, eliciting what he judged was a small, approving smile on her part. "I think you were trying to define you and Drue before springing him on the rest of us. You know who he is better than anyone and you wanted everyone to see that he wasn't so bad. But life never works out as neatly as the best laid plans, does it?"

His rationale soothed her. She felt less burdened even though she knew she had two friendships laying in waste. Dawson had done what he always could; he brought her comfort. She wished she wanted to hug him, but everything inside of her cringed at the thought of it.

"So tell me about this film festival." she insisted, wanting the noise to come from outside of her head for awhile.

Dawson gushed about the prize he had won, the striking tribute he had made to his father's memory. She had almost forgotten that not long ago, Mitch had died. Suddenly and unexpectedly, such was always the company death kept with the young. He made it easy to forget about his misery when he faced it so valiantly. Ever the optimist, ever the martyr, was Dawson Leery. Always wanting to stay the suffering of others by masking his own. Most would have wished to be like him in a hard situation. People were programmed whether overtly or otherwise to want to find strength instead of succumbing to weakness.

_  
Jen... you're pretty damn strong.  
_Damn it all to hell. She did not want to hear such a thing, from such a source.

"…and a move to Boston is in the immediate future."

She blinked "Hmm? Oh, that's good Dawson. It'll be nice to have you around more. I mean, if you have the time, of course."

"For you, always. But will you have the time?"

She revealed herself, finally, torn between what was beyond possibility and the want for security of certainty. He could see how the whole day, her whole existence, with or without Drue, unnerved her. She had no more of an answer to his question than he had any for hers.

***

The city blocks were much longer in New York than in Boston. In New York, they had no beginnings or ends. They were a constant grid, a maze, with something new to be found along every different pathway. He could get lost in those places, without a second thought as to how he would find his way back to what he knew. It always just happened, much to his dismay in many cases.

In Boston, specifically in the suburban sect that surrounded Mrs. Ryan's neighborhood, he kept running into the same dead end, no matter what direction he took. Everything led back to the lofty yellow Victorian with the dirty upstairs window. Every time he looked up at it, there was no escaping the mess he had made.

Noticing the absence of Jack's car in the driveway, Drue sat down on the house's front stoop. He was not looking for trouble, but he just could not leave yet.

"Either you have some serious gall," said Pacey, who had emerged from the front door, looking stricken by something Drue could not pinpoint, "Or you meant what you said." He sat next to, yet equally far away from, Drue. "None of us really knows the depths to which you care about Jen."

"Seems that none of you knew anything about me. Period. Except Joey's blond friend, and god only knows how she did." Drue didn't look up, concentrating hard on the stone he was tapping with the toe of his sneaker.

"That's Audrey. Joey's roommate. She said she saw you talking to some girl at the party, then you and Jen nearly came to blows when she wanted to leave."

"She really threw a wrench in Jen's covert ops, didn't she?"

"Why don't you cut Jen some slack, man? She was scared. She has a little more trouble than most trusting people. And you probably have more first hand knowledge as to why than anyone."

Drue watched one, then two cars pass in slow succession. He could not fathom why Pacey, who was almost cliché in his loyalty and who was no fan of his by any stretch, was sitting with him instead of Jen. It was disconcerting in a way, talking to him about anything personal.

"You know, none of this would have happened if it weren't for me," he admitted.

Pacey shook his head. "You didn't attack her in that alley."

"No, but…"

"But nothing. There is no fault here, on either of your parts. The lowlife, scumbag who did this is holding all those cards."

"She saw me talking to that girl from my class. The one Audrey saw me with. That's what set it off. I was suppose to be with Jen but I stopped to talk to her instead."

"That makes you an idiot. And we've all been there. Remember Anna?" Their glances caught, remembering another pretty blond that Drue had wanted to like him back but she liked Pacey just a little bit more, causing a bit of strife between Pacey and Joey at the time. "It doesn't make you a bad guy."

Drue nodded. "I still feel pretty wrecked, ya know?"

"As well you should," said Pacey, wringing his hands. "You broke that girl's heart. And girls like her only come around once. Again, I should know."

"We're not so different, are we, Witter?" Drue said eventually.

"As much as I hate to admit it, we aren't. We are always doing something to sabotage ourselves when everything gets to be too close to good."

The both looked out at the nothing happening before them. It felt like an impasse, like Pacey's forgiveness for all of Drue's mortal flaws was somehow going to serve as a scant substitute for his own, or even Jen's. Maybe it was too soon to hear such a thing, mostly because he did not feel he deserved it. He did not feel like he should be allowed relief or acceptance. Not while she was still afraid.

"I should head out before Jack comes back," he said, lifting himself into a standing position.

"You want a ride?" Another unbelievable offer.

"No man. I will catch a bus. But thanks."

He was only half way out of sight when he heard Pacey shout.

"Hey…"

He turned, looking back. "Yeah?"

Pacey weighed his words carefully. "You'll never forgive yourself if you give up on her. So don't."


	6. The Heart Brings You Back

Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.

**Revisionist History**

**Chapter 6: The Heart Brings You Back  
**

Jen sat, her cheek resting on her knee, her eyes fixed on the sunless afternoon. Early winter fog hung over the city. Frost had set around the window's edge and she could see the line of her hot breath shrink against the cold air. How easy it would have been to stay in bed, she mused.

"We're here," said Jack.

She was suddenly aware of her immediate surroundings: the other cars, the other students. Everyone was in a hurry, moving quickly from the parking lot to the buildings, all trying to get those few extra minutes of cramming in by arriving early, or making a mad dash after arriving late. Final exams were upon them and everyone looked a little more tense, a little more agitated. For this week, they were feeling the way Jen had felt everyday since Halloween.

She had attended enough class sessions to turn in the necessary assignments and take her exams, allowing her to maintain passing grades. No more, no less. Classrooms and lecture halls, no matter their size, were torturous. A handful of other students often felt like a hundred. When she went, she never stayed for longer than she had to and she never drew attention to herself through participation. She sat in the back, nearest to the door. She was content on being invisible, being ignored.

Now, like everyone else, all she had to do was get through this last exam. Sit in one more ever shrinking box, while trying to maintain her composure. Then the semester would be over. Everyone would be going away for the holidays. Strangers and friends alike. Pacey, Joey, and Dawson were already on their way back to Capeside. Jack and Audrey were driving to the airport together later that evening, Italy and Los Angeles their respective destinations. Even Grams had plans with her boyfriend that would likely be keeping her away from the house. Jen would finally have her break from walking on eggshells and hiding from prying eyes.

"You coming?" asked Jack, who was standing on his side of the car, waiting.

One more test. One more hour. She took a deep breath, bitter air filling her lungs with a silent rattle. Now move, she thought to herself. Just move into their throngs. Be just like them. If she could do that, she could do anything. And the sooner she did it, the sooner she could be back home. Back to her solitude.

She nodded, slowly getting out of the car.

She walked methodically, making a conscious effort not to turn back to the car when any pair of eyes passed a glance her way. She knew it was her anxiety manifesting itself in paranoia. She knew that most of these people could not tell that she was the girl who had been on the local news, and in all the papers. She no longer wore a sling; all of her bruises had faded. The only visible sign that anything had happened was the pink mark on her cheek. Though there might be speculation, it was virtually impossible for anyone to pinpoint her as that girl.

Though he recognized her discomfort, Jack said nothing. He had not said much at all in the last few weeks other than a passing comment. He was waiting, she knew, for her to make amends. He was also waiting to be forgiven because, despite all testament to the contrary, what Jen had said to him about blame had hit him hard.

There was so much to be said yet she did not know what the words should be or what they should mean. More than anything, she wanted to reach out and put her arm around him, and have him return the gesture. But it would be a quick fix, which did not exist for them anymore. It was going to be a process of rebuilding trust and trust always took time. A moment, a short walk, a drive home, were simply not going to suffice.

"Ready?" Jack asked as he pulled the door open for her.

She looked at him, grateful for his minute sympathy. "No. But all I have to do is finish, right?"

They moved to opposite sides of the room, several seats separating them from other students per the instructions on the board.

Jen glanced around. Everyone was far too engrossed in their last minute note checks and skimming through book chapters to be paying attention to her.

The professor passed across the front of the room, then up the stadium style stairs, placing a stack of exams to be passed down the row.

With the exam in front of her, she could see its blank glare illuminating her impending failure. She glanced around again, her mind too distracted by the other presences to focus. Thirty students felt like ten times as many, closing in around her. Still, no one was looking. She stared down again, helplessly groping her mind for rationale. With blood beating loudly against her eardrums, she began scribbling madly, hoping words would somehow formulate into reasonable answers.

A pencil hit the ground, like a grenade pounding against the cheap grade carpet. Jen nearly shot out of her seat, barely suppressing a shriek. A few heads stirred as she thrashed against the plastic chair, her desktop bouncing high enough to knock her paper into the seat next to her. Even the professor looked up, to assess the source of the racket. His annoyance, though ever present, seemed to soften when he saw it was Jen.

She could not take it. Her hand clutched the paper so hard that it nearly tore when the professor took it from her hand.

Then, she ran.

Tripping over stairs and cracked curbs. Through the campus, the parking lot, the buzzing streets of Boston. She could not actively recall which way home was but she somehow managed to guide herself in that direction. All eyes were on her as she passed pedestrians, workers, drivers. She heard a horn honk loudly and she stopped, glaring through a cloudy windshield at a man. The man.

Without a face, each looked the same as the next. Each looked like him. Not one was distinguished from another and none of them was different than the one who had taken everything away.

She could not breathe. She could not feel. Her legs and chest burned but her body could not stay immobile long enough to recover. Running had not saved her that night and had now put in the way of harm. But it would certainly carry her to her destination. She had to move.

She tried to block everything out, even the sound of her sneakers thumping against the pavement. When she came into the familiarity of her neighborhood, she went as far as to close her eyes.

There was a night. A black disconnect, something foreign driving fast through her veins. She was nowhere and she was everywhere. Her mind was lost to the call of toxic bliss and the heat of every street lamp overhead seemed to chase her, wanting to burn her intensely. She giggled and the feel of the sound in the back of her throat was velvet. She pawed at the tall boy next to her, her heart beating intensely, calling to him loudly. The way that he looked down at her, subtle amusement cloaked by dark lashes, was wanton. All of his looks were that way. That was her power. She could have him if she wanted, or throw him away.

She opened her eyes.

Someone had thought that same thing about her. That she was someone to be used.

How was she any better than the person who attacked her, she wondered. Maybe she was even worse for doing such a thing to someone she called a friend, that she cared about despite herself.

She stared at her front door for a moment.

Maybe she did not deserve safety or quiet. Her assault on Drue in no resembled the one perpetrated against her. Their two situations were not even remotely the same. She could hear scolding voices at the mere suggestion of such a thing. Voices attached to people who could not possibly understand what it felt like to have their hearts damaged irreparably. Only he knew it. And she had been the cause.

She could not open the door. The self-loathing was worse than the fear.

***

"Jack told me about what happened in class."

Jen, who had been pretending to doze on the sofa, looked up to see Grams standing over her. "He's quite an effective little spy, isn't it?" she huffed.

Grams' face twisted. "Jennifer, don't be so harsh," she scolded. "But what he said is making me rethink leaving you alone overnight."

"Grams, please. We have been over this a thousand times. You bought these orchestra tickets months ago. And you have been looking forward to a romantic evening with Mr. Smalls for weeks now."

"I just don't know…"

Jen sat up. "Let's be reasonable about this," she insisted, attempting to steady her expression, making it hard and relentless. "We both need to take steps forward. Get on with our lives. I have to get use to being on my own and you have to be able to let me do that."

Grams nodded, reluctantly agreeing with her granddaughter's wise words. "Alright. But if you need me, the numbers are on the board in the kitchen."

Jen smiled her acknowledgement as Grams kissed her atop the head and pulled the door shut, locking the deadbolt, behind her. Jen scurried to the window, like a small child, standing their longer than it took for her Grams' car to pull away from the curb and disappear around the corner.

Something creaked inside the house, the noise amplified by the vacancy. The timing was inexplicable, almost as if set to queue. She had told Grams this was necessary but she had not considered the security that their collective presence afforded her. There was no one around to console the nervous part of Jen. All she had was the knowing part of her, the part that had long ago conquered the fear of all that went bump in the night. And it was not as convincing as it needed to be.

She moved slowly to the entryway between the kitchen and the living room. Without the clutter of dawdling teenagers, the landscape of the house changed. Both rooms managed to look bigger than they ever had. No corner of the living room was hidden from the dull light filtering through the drapes. Anyone who chanced to peer in could see her no matter where she stood. The back door - directly off the kitchen - looked sinister without Pacey's body propped against it. He was always there, unknowingly standing guard like a centurion, making her feel protected. Without his constancy, she felt like anyone or anything could come busting through and she would have no one, and no power of her own, to stop it.

She moved again, this time toward the interior of the house, pressing her body tightly against the wall.

Jack's room - at the end of the hallway next to the stairs - looked as it always did. Disoriented while simultaneously untouched. When he was home, he was stuck to the sofa, or sitting on the kitchen counter eating left-overs, hardly even going in his own room for anything other than sleep. The rest of the time, he was away doing what she imagined was important business to a fraternity man. The former sadness she had felt about such a thing had shifted to relief. Without Jack around, there was less evidence as to condition of their relationship.

She ran her fingers over the objects cropping up on the desk. He kept a picture of the two of them beside his bed. Dawson had taken it the summer before senior year, managing to capture the meaning and humanity of Jack and Jen in a still frame. Everything worth having was on display in front of her. Everything she wanted was right there, staring back at her.

She had to find a way back to it. When he returned from Italy, she would take the steps to getting what they had in that picture back. Even if she said the wrong thing, it had to be said. Even if he did not accept it at first, she would press him. She would be nothing like she was the day Jack walked on her.

For the first time, she did not feel powerless. She did not feel timid. There was a force writhing inside of her, stretching itself through her entirety, body and soul alike. She had forgotten what, exactly, this feeling was and how it could be all encompassing. Now, though, she never wanted it to go away, despite knowing that it would.

The bleat of the phone sounded so far away, too far to actually stir a reaction from her. She could have run to answer it but she could not imagine it was anyone other than a telemarketer offering her a deal on telephone service.

It stopped and started again only seconds later. Persistence told her it might be Grams, just barely through the door of Mr. Smalls' house, itching to check on her.

"Hello?" she said.

"Jen?"

Her teeth clicked together in what resembled a chatter. She had to take several deep breaths through her nose just to steady her voice.

"Drue."

"Yeah."

The static of his phone crackled over the line, breaking up a deafening silence.

"How are you?" she asked lamely, wondering if maybe he should have been the first to ask. Not that she necessarily deserved it more. But he had been the one to call her.

"Well, actually, if you open the door, you can see for yourself."

She glanced through the living room at the front door. He could not possibly be on the other side of it. Yet when she looked through the peephole, Drue was standing far enough back that she could see all of him. Sweet, harmless, just as he had always looked, even when she failed to see him that way.

"Why didn't you just knock?" she asked as she waved him inside.

He shrugged. "I figured that the phone ringing might feel a little less threatening than someone pounding on the door."

She nodded. There was were several snotty comebacks in her repertoire - being combative with Drue at during terse moments was second nature - but such a response did not feel entirely appropriate. If anyone deserved to be defensive, it was him.

"You can sit down," she offered, seating herself while watching him stand near the end table with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"I am fine standing" he said, making clear his desire to be as far away from her as possible. "So no more sling, I see."

"I actually just stopped wearing it last week. Doctors say it healed surprisingly fast for a separation." She rubbed her shoulder, a bit self-conscious that he had noticed. "It's still a bit sore though."

"That's…that sucks." He could not say anymore if he wanted to appear apathetic. He did not want her to see that he felt anything toward her at all almost as much as he actually wanted to feel nothing. Any more of a response would have given him away.

"Only if I roll the wrong way in my sleep."

He could not find the humor in words that so clearly intended it. "All the bruises gone?"

"Yes."

"Good," he said, pausing to look at her face closely before mumbling the word again.

Many might not have noticed the real change in her. Most probably did not even notice her scar. It was evident to him, though, that he was looking at the darkest, ugliest side of a beautiful girl he had ever seen. A side that lied, betraying a camaraderie that had become his life's breath. He was sure that she could never prove so disloyal to anyone she considered close enough to care about, thus no one saw her this way. Just him.

How could he love a girl so much when she could not be bothered to care about him even a little? What was it that separated him from everyone else? Why couldn't he be just like Jack and Pacey and Dawson?

He'd had nothing but time to contemplate these questions for weeks. Not in all the time he had known these people had he ever wanted to be like them. He had only coveted what they had - her. But wanting her adoration was not enough for him the way it was for them. No, there was something more he had to be. Someone more. By just looking at them, he could not tell what or who that was. In all likelihood, it was impossible to achieve. He was never going to be a hero, or a savior, or a soul mate.

His face hardened as he stood. "Well, I am going to take off. I just came to see how you were."

"Please, Drue…"

His intention was to keep going, to leave indefinitely. But a few words from her could change all that. She could say what he desperately wanted - no, needed - to hear. And he could not walk away without knowing whether or not she was capable of it. Whether or not her heart could make a little room for him.

He turned back from the door to find her standing close to him.

"I was…so, so stupid." She took his hand in hers, pulling him gently back to the sofa. "Today, I was thinking about the first time I did ecstasy with you. I remembered the way you looked at me. And how much advantage I took of that. It wasn't right that I knew it then and acted as I did. But it was plain unforgivable to have continued doing it for as long as I did."

"Then, why?" he interjected.

"Because I am rotten. And instead of doing the right thing, I damaged a friendship I wasn't so worried about losing until it was gone. And I hurt someone who I didn't know I could hurt, or miss, as much as I have."

He stared at their linked hands, trying to avoid her eyes. They would reduce him to nothing. He would have no chance if they found his. "I feel like you're always apologizing for the same thing, Jen."

"You're right. I keep screwing up in the same, exact way. And I need to stop." She squeezed his hand. "I _will _stop. I promise you."

Then he looked up and he could see, he could feel, she wanted to mean it.

Exactly what he needed to hear.

The kiss was so gentle, so quick, that had he not felt the warmth of her lips against his, he would not have known it was happening.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said as much to himself as to her.

She touched her lips, not entirely sure what her response was suppose to be. She wanted to console and reassure him as she watched the guilt grip him fiercely. Still, she questioned whether or not she was okay, with the kiss or with his instant closeness. Even as he was apologizing for impeding her space, her person, his arm still around her midsection.

Without a word, she walked into the kitchen. Bracing her trembling body against the countertop, she reached for the window, jerking the pane upward. The air felt thick, like her lungs could not handle its capacity; nothing circulated, everything was just stopped. Her chest was constricting, her heart bursting, causing rapid breaths to rob the rest of her body of oxygen. Every part of her was fighting itself, fighting against her, as she wrenched at the jammed sill maniacally.

His hands came down on hers, removing them from the rattling window, as he said, "Stop, Jen. Come on. Stop." He took her by the shoulders and guided her through the back door.

"I'm so…sorry, Drue," she gasped, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she collapsed into Grams' wicker rocker.

He slid his sweatshirt off and laid it on her shoulders. "It's fine, Jen. There's nothing for you to be apologetic about. Like I said, I was wrong."

"No. I…" She tried to take another deep breath, tried to calm her body. "I overreacted to something that I really had not reaction to. I could have handled it better."

He reached his arm out, ready to rub her back like a mother would a distraught child. He thought better of it though. He had just set off this tailspin with an intimate touch. He did not want to further exasperate her condition. Instead, he sat on a large, overturned flower pot, feeling as helpless as she likely did.

"You know, for a minute there, right before you called, I thought I had it together. I felt strong again for once," Jen admitted, breathing normalizing after several minutes.

"Then I came in and ruined it," he chuckled bitterly. "Sometimes, I wonder if you and are too destructive for each other."

"I don't know," she said, pulling the sweatshirt more tightly around herself.

They were both fell silent, the first of the evening crickets chirping tunelessly.

She watched the blades of grass ripple as the wind gusted across the yard.

Maybe they weren't the best for each other. Maybe he would never know the right way to be with her, whether he was doing too much or not enough, and maybe she was always going to keep making the same mistakes, hurting him endlessly. Maybe the bad was always going to trump the good.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him staring at the same places she was. He could have been thinking the same thing, but he was still there. He was still sitting next to her.

Even if they were bound to destroy each other, he was not willing to leave until the theory was tested, maybe even proven.

"I think I'll go in," she said finally, knowing she was not going to sort out the depths of them and their troubles sitting there. "It is getting too cold and I am actually getting a little tired." When she looked, he was already on his feet, holding the door open for her. As she passed through the kitchen, she peeked at him checking to make sure both locks were locked. "You can stay, you know."

He looked at her. "Only if you want me too."

She was curled up before he body even hit the sofa. "Stay."

He smiled, gathering the afghan from the back of the couch. He draped it over her, then eased into the nearby recliner. "Okay."

***

She opened her eyes some hours later, and caught him tucking the blanket back over her feet. "How did you sleep?" he asked, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

"Soundly, actually. It seems that you chase away all of the monsters."

He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. "Anything I can do to help."

She smiled warmly, tucking her arm under her head. "So, where are you going for the holiday?" she asked.

"Well, I was suppose to go to Arizona. Dad's holiday and all that. But he made other, last minute plans of his own."

"New girlfriend or something?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Or something."

"Ah." Had their fathers been capable of feeling, they would have been emotional doppelgangers. Neither nurturing, nor honest, but both compulsively unfaithful - to their spouses and their children - and equally hypocritical.

"So I opted to stay here instead of going ten rounds with mommy dearest in Capeside."

"Where you going to stay?"

"The dorms. No one else will be around so it'll be quiet." His voice lacked any enthusiasm.

"You could always stay here," she offered. "There's plenty of room with the boys gone and I think Grams might like you being here, keeping me company. She's still a little wary of leaving me on my own."

"And you?"

She kicked his knee playfully. "How many times does a girl have to ask you to stay before you get the hint, Valentine?"

He grinned. "So you want me around, Lindley?"

She looked him, stretching out her hand for his. "Yes. I want you around."


	7. Resolve

Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.

****

Revisionist History

Chapter 7: Resolve

It felt like old times, the two of them traipsing around a big city's streets. Even without the normal crush of ivy leaguers and party kids, Boston was still swamped with people moving from place to place without concern for anything but their intended business - which, in the days spanning between Christmas and the beginning of the new year, was likely gift return and party planning. Drue and Jen had neither to do. For them, there was nothing but time. Time to enjoy the city, time to enjoy the madness around them. Time to enjoy one another.

Not surprisingly, Grams had been quite open to the idea of Drue staying at the house until Jack and Dawson returned. She had gone as far as stripping down Dawson's attic bed and replacing his sheets with a brand new set she had bought specially for Drue. Drue had been somewhat abashed by the whole display, constantly reassuring Grams that it was he who owed her the debt of gratitude, not the other way around. Jen, on the contrary, could not help but be amused by her grandmother's actions, and endeared at the subtle bond that was developing between the two most unlikely of allies. Watching them interact - Grams had taken it upon herself to teach Drue to cook while he was in her house - illuminated for Jen, and anyone who chose to see it, a strange connection that existed outside of their worry and concern for Jen's well being. Grams appeared to genuinely enjoy Drue's company, as much as if he were any of her other boys, and she was beginning to see him as a person. She was taking the time to do what others in Jen's life had not and it warmed Jen to know that she was doing it as much for herself as for the sake her granddaughter.

Mrs. Valentine had been less understanding about the whole situation, using Drue as her ill-chosen outlet. By Jen's estimation, she should have been angry at the man who had actually failed her instead of unleashing on Drue. Yet she had listened to the women's harpy shriek from the kitchen as Drue held the phone away from his ear in the living room when he explained everything to her. The only way to ease her uncontrollable rage, help her gain much needed perspective, was for Grams to offer up her own gentle persuasion. How Drue was doing her a favor with his attentiveness, keeping Jen's spirits high in her time of need. She made Drue out to be no less than a saint, highlighting how he must have learned such devotion and thoughtfulness somewhere, without ever stating that it was a results of Mrs. Valentine's impeccable mothering skills and magnanimous influence. Watching Grams deceive in such a way had a strange, but equally impressive, power to it, leaving Jen slack jawed with disbelief. But the intervention was successful; Mrs. Valentine had been convinced. Drue was to check in every few days and that was the end of calamity.

"There?" asked Jen, pointing to a shabby building - the remnants of plum colored paint chipping from weather worn brick - standing alone on the corner opposite them. At Jen's request, they had detoured from the bustle of the downtown crossing and found themselves exploring the side and back roads that skirted Boston Universities outer perimeter.

"Yup. That's where I got it," Drue said simply.

For Christmas, he'd bought her a CD - seemingly impersonal had it not been a replacement for a favorite she had lost somewhere between hometowns. The fact that he remembered the mention of its loss - and that she now saw that it had not been easy to locate - was the real gift.

"How did you find it?" she asked, pulling her scarf tight over her face as the wind whipped into gusts.

He turned towards her, his back bracing them both. "I had plenty of free time over the last few weeks. I walked around a lot and happened to stumble upon it. Besides, growing up in New York, you learn that the best places are usually the ones that are hidden away, hard to find."

"Very true."

The odd, satisfied expression crossing her face affirmed his statement. All of her favorite places in New York had been a mystery to most of the people she'd known. She had preferred it that way. No one could find her if she did not want them to, which was her objective most of the time. Now, exploring the backstreets of Boston, filling her world up with new places, she was reminded what she loved about big cities.

It was also the first time she had moved easily, mingling with the general public, in months. She felt unsafe in its confides, still struggling with being part of something that she felt abandoned by, but she felt the urgency in its necessity. Exposing herself, little by little, had proven to be the safest course of action.

She had quickly learned her own parameters - what was too much, how far she could push herself - and made attempts to adjust to them when necessary. Tough days were still quite common. Everywhere she went, men bumped into her and looks were passed her way. It was all still quite unsettling. But she found that standing up instead of running away to be fulfilling. She also found renewed comfort in Drue's subtle, yet equally overwhelming, encouragement and his presence next to her wherever she went.

"So," she asked as she looked up and down the street before crossing, "What are your big plans for tonight?"

"I am going to end up sitting on the sofa with you, eating popcorn and watching the ball drop."

Her face scrunched up. "Is it sad that Grams has a more active social life than either of us? I mean, weren't we two of the premiere party kids of the upper east side at one point?"

"Yes, we were. Now, we're…"

"Completely lame," she quipped.

He knew that she could not be happier about a quiet night at home while the rest of the world drunk itself into another dismal year. While she was progressing, socially recovering, throwing herself back into a party scene was something she would never again do. That was the case even before the attack. "I was going to give us a break and say reformed. Besides, it could be worse. Remember that New Years eve we spent in an abandoned subway station with a homeless guy and 3 drunk girls?"

"If I recall correctly, you weren't complaining about those girls until…"

"One of them threw up on my shoes," he finished.

"Up 'til then, you were totally hitting on them."

"Only because I knew it annoyed you. Driving you crazy was a favored hobby in those days."

She smiled. "That's changed?" She bumped his arm with her elbow.

Her level of comfort regarding physicality and proximity with him changed frequently. She still shied away from some casual touches - a ruffle of the hair, a playful bump of the hip - while, at times, initiating them. Drue could never be entirely sure what was appropriate, or what would inevitably set her off, but he had learned not to completely stifle his actions. It was simply a matter of refining his manner and reaction. He prepared himself for her to recoil more than half of the time, and whenever she did not, her trust in him helped reinforce what little confidence he had in his ability to support her.

"Never, Lindley. Not as long as you can't help but be jealous of other girls wanting me."

"Ah, yes. These mysterious 'other girls'," she teased. "I have heard mention of them time and time again yet I've never actually seen one."

He half-smiled, uneasy at the truth in her insinuation. "Again, jealousy. I don't want some girl to end up without an eye because you get catty and try to gauge it out."

The sound of their shared laughter faded quickly as they boarded the bus as it pulled up to their stop. She slid into a seat near the back, closest to the window. He sat next to her, blocking the aisle as he always did.

"You know, if you really do want to make other plans, don't feel like you are obligated to me," she said lightly, trying to sound nonchalant.

"What are you babbling about, now?"

"Stop it," she said, sounding too serious for the conversation they were having. "I don't want you giving up a night of fun just for me."

"I'm not giving anything up. I'll be right where I want to, with the person I want to be with, okay?" he insisted.

After a moment, she took his hand in hers and tentatively rested her head on his shoulder.

***

She would never understand the appeal of standing out in Time Square, in subzero cold, practically being felt up by six strangers, just to brag about the experience of something so arbitrary as the passing of another year. Possibly because she was cynical, possibly because she had done it herself once out of boredom and been thoroughly unimpressed. All she'd had to show for it was a broken shoe, a softball-sized bruise on her left side, and the feeling of loneliness that overwhelmed the high of mystery narcotics.

Evenings on the sofa, a bowl of lightly salted popcorn - a strange preference that she and Drue shared - balancing on the middle cushion, hugged on each side by a respective hip, was becoming its own ritual, completely unrelated to any holiday festivities. It was a part of their days that each knew the other secretly enjoyed more than any other. Sometimes, the would watch movies, compliments of what Dawson considered his secret film stash though Drue had no trouble finding it. Dawson stored his movies like teenaged boys did dirty magazines - under the bed. Also compliments of many a movie night at the Leery's, Jen would drive Drue absolutely mad with endless analysis, technical criticisms and useless trivia, never allowing him to fully enjoy what he was watching. His revenge always came on the evenings when they were either sit quietly, relaxing, or when Jen would lay down on the sofa to read.

Innocently enough, he would set himself at her feet, always welcome company to her, though she knew his intention. In the time it took for them to exchange a look, he had yanked the socks off her feet and was out of the room. When she gave chase, shouting threats in response to his taunts, Grams would scold them both through a smile, reprimanding them for pounding up and down the stairs like two, reckless children. When Jen decided not to indulge his whims, which was hardly ever, he would eventually come back down to the sofa and put the socks back on her feet, never conceding defeat.

It felt good, to Jen, to act out of sorts, like the rabid child Gram's playfully accused her of being. With the others, she had always felt the need to be a little more reserved, a little more guarded. She could tear through the house manically, jumping on and over furniture in pursuit of something as ridiculous as stolen socks. That was not part of the Jen they knew, no matter how well they claimed to know her; it was not a part she felt comfortable showing to anyone other than Drue, for he had seen her much worse. Drunk, high, crawling up a city sidewalk with vomit down the front of her shirt, letting guys put their hands, and other various parts of themselves, anywhere under her skirts they chose. At her lowest points, he saw her. Sometimes inciting and exasperating the problem - he could be equally depraved - others, picking her up out of her own mess. To him, witnessing the brief moments of complete release of self was cathartic rather than disturbing. Whereas others might see an act of madness, he would see healing.

She looked over at him trying to fit a fistful of popcorn in his mouth. He obviously was not worried about her seeing him in that way either, though she knew it was never as easy for him as he made it appear. Just like with Jack, the re-establishment of trust between them would take time. But history was on their side. Knowing what they could have, feeling it more intimately with one another than with anyone, would both ease and complicate the process making it more tangible and less easily destroyed again.

"So," she said as she twisted her body around to face him, "If you could kiss any girl at midnight, who would it be. And I'm talking anyone - super models, actresses…your cousin…"

His eyes shifted from the absent stare he had rooted in the television screen. "Wait, what?! What kind of question is that?"

"The fun kind. Unless it is not a girl your after. Maybe there's a special fella you fancy."

He grabbed up a handful of popcorn and threw it at her. "From kissing cousin jokes to gay jokes. How very original."

"Stop being so uptight," she teased as she retaliated by launching her own popcorn attack. "I was just killing time with conversation. You don't have to answer if you don't want."

"Conversation? What, the lame band of the minute slated to usher us into the new year isn't keeping you entertained."

She rolled her eyes. "Please. Anything but that," she insisted.

"Okay. How about…New Year's resolutions?" he asked.

"Don't believe in them. Resolve is an action, not a phrase. Saying it isn't doing it. And intentions never get the job done."

He shook his head, trying to hide a slight smirk from her. "Jen Lindley, true to form. So…no resolutions. Then, what?"

"Hmm…I don't know."

"How about…something about the last year that you didn't do but should have?"

"That sounds strangely like a resolution but worded differently," she said skeptically.

He groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. "Humor a guy, will you?" "Okay, okay… Well, it is always my goal to be a better friend. But…we know how that turned out this past year. I lied to all of my friends, hurt two of them and my best friend hates me. Not that I don't deserve it. "

They had discussed the matter before on several occasions. The first night he had stayed in Dawson's room, they had sat on opposite ends of his bed, Jen explaining to Drue the exact nature of what had transpired between she and Jack. How she had inadvertently defended him while accusing Jack of having some role in her misfortune. Though he could not understand why she would do such a thing, or how it had even come to pass, he allowed a small part of himself to be grateful that she had even thought to shift some of the blame off of him. If she did not blame him, it made it harder for him to blame himself.

He also painfully aware that if she did not blame him, or blame Jack, as she had claimed not to, she was blaming herself. When confronted with the idea, she had denied it, though not convincingly, by asserting that it was simply too hard to accept that no one was to blame. Without a tangible culprit, there was no one to explain the motives or reasons, and without that, it was difficult accept that there was no blame to be had. Finding the balance, she had said, was something she successfully attempted daily. Drue held steadily to his theory, doubting that her leniency stretched so far as to forgive herself whatever fault she felt she had in the matter, but kept it to himself. There would be no point in challenging her and, in turn, being detriment to her progress.

"Jack doesn't hate you," he said, quietly. "From all you tell me about him, and all that I've seen, he can't hate you. "

"You know, you give me too much credit. You would be well within your rights to hate me as well."

"Hating you is useless, Jen." A lesson that first had experience had taught him. He had laid in bed many a night during their time apart, resolving to hate her the next morning when he awoke. But the mornings always passed with him longing to have her close again. She may have felt that she deserved to be on the receiving end of his animosity but every negative thought brought him more grief than satisfaction. The only way he felt good was when he was with her, angry or not, and hating her only kept him away. All he accomplished was punishing himself. "I couldn't if I tried, and that's how I know Jack doesn't. I think he just hates what happened."

"Maybe." She stared at the television, intent only on blocking out her thoughts with the whine of whatever irritating band was playing Dick Clark's celebration show. She did not want to let herself believe him even though her sincerest hope was that he was right. "I guess there is no point in beating myself up over it right now, though. How about you? What about this last year would you change?"

"We going to be super lame and count it down?" he asked, successfully avoiding her question.

She grinned as the word five trickled from her mouth. He joined in and before he could tick off one as the clock turned over, he felt soft lips on his. The initial surprise dispursed almost immediately and he laced his fingers through her hair, the sweet, tantalizing mix of their breath enticing.

"What's this?" he spoke through this kiss.

She leaned back slightly. "This is me, kissing the boy I wanted to kiss at midnight."

"Nothing about us is that simple. You cannot just kiss me out of the blue and have it be a casual, celebratory gesture between friends."

She kissed him again, knowing that she had already broke the promise she made to him weeks earlier. "I know."

He didn't want her to stop; he didn't want to stop. But he needed more of an answer than she was giving. He would accept almost anything, but had to be something more. "So what does it mean?"

"Something good, I hope."

"I hope so too," he said, standing up. "But I think you need to take some time to figure it out before we do that again, if we do it again." He kissed her on top of her head. "Happy New Year, Jen."


	8. New Year, Same Problems

Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.

**Revisionist History**

**Chapter 8: New Year, Same Problems**

A soft bleat echoed from the hallway into Jen's unconscious state, buzzing faintly in her ears. Her body twisted tighter into the warmth of her blankets, drowsiness clinging heavily to her eyelids. The sound, now clearly distinguishable as the doorbell, came again. Without even looking at her clock, she knew it was too early for such persistence on the part of anyone other than Drue, whose incessant trickery had been his only means of communication for almost two weeks.

Since New Years, Drue had reverted to the tactics of a 5-year old boy who could only show his admiration for her by kissing her then running away. Or was that what she had done, she'd wondered. All he had wanted was some clarification, reassurance that what he was being offered was worth the value of his own heart. A simple, completely reasonable, request. When she could not give him that, the best thing he had known to do was to give her space - though she knew he had no desire to be away from her - otherwise he would find himself giving her the answers he wanted to hear; she had to come to her own conclusions, realize what her feelings were without influence. His intention, through separation, had been to provide her with functional silence, time for productive self-examination.

But the sound of the doorbell tearing her from a comfortable sleep was hardly that. It reminded her of how truly frustrating he could be, how his degree of childishness could drag her down to the same level. As she pushed her arms through the sleeves of her hoodie, she was already plotting a revenge strategy, complete with a hard kick to the shins.

"Well, she's still asleep but if you leave me a card, I can tell her to get in contact with you," she heard Drue saying as she stepped off the last stair.

"Please do," said a strange, yet familiar, voice coming from the direction of the front door. "I was in the area on other business so I thought I would tell her the news in person."

"That's ominous," Drue said, his tone short, almost sounding annoyed.

"I know. And I wish I could tell you more, seeing as you've kept up with this case ever since we took your statement about that night. Policy, though, dictates I can only release that information to her."

Jen listened intently. Drue had never mentioned talking to the police, but she had seen enough television shows to know that they had likely questioned him. She, and anyone from the party who had come forward with information, would have been asked about his involvement. Since he was the last person to see her before the attack, and the nature of their parting was suspect, he was probably targeted as a person of interest for a period of time. Like everything else, though, nothing had come of it and they had moved on. Apparently, Drue had not though. He had kept in touch with the man, whose voice she had pinpointed as the young detective working her case, and found someway to keep himself in the loop about the status of the case.

Part of her was irritated by the discovery, that he had kept this from her, but she could not make the feeling last, knowing that was where his dishonesty ended. If he had known anything more than what she did, he would have told her. That honesty, combined with his concern, trumped any negative feeling she tried to have about him

"Well, she is here, awake, and ready to hear what it is you came to tell me, Detective…." It had been at least a month since she had seen him, and his name escaped her that she could not recall his name.

"Raymond. Detective John Raymond," he interjected.

"Please come in," she offered, quietly seating herself, not entirely sure she wanted to hear his news. She noticed Drue make his way over to the sofa, sitting close at her side. She could feel him wanting to reach over and take her hand in his, but he probably thought better of it. She wished he hadn't. This was the one time that she needed, desperately, for his touch to calm her.

"I'm sorry I forgot your name. I am terrible with them to begin with and it has been awhile since we talked."

He waved his hand, "Don't worry about, Ms. Lindley…"

"Just Jen is fine."

"Okay, Jen. Like I was telling your friend, I have some news for you."

"That I heard as I was coming down the stairs. So, what kind of news?"

She felt a shift in the cushion and a hand slide over hers. She wanted to thank Drue, but a look would have given too much away. She felt lucky that he could not feel the thud of her racing hard by weaving their fingers together. It would have given her away.

"Good, actually."

She breathed, hearing a similar sigh of relief escaping Drue's lips.

"We actually apprehended a suspect in another case. The circumstances of that one were similar to your own only…"

His hesitation prompted an anxious, "What?" from Jen.

"Only in this case, he was not scared off. Unfortunately, he sexually assaulted the young woman."

Jen's blood ran cold, pouring ice shards into her veins, her muscles going rigid. She thought back to how close he had come to doing the same to her. How close she had been to being that kind of victim, and how much worse it must have been for another girl. She squeezed Drue's hand more tightly.

"That's awful," was all she could muster to say in response.

The detective shook his head. "Yes, quite. The only silver lining was that he was careless, which can happen when the offender is young and inexperienced, and left plenty of forensic evidence that led to us catching him."

Jen chose not to probe him for the technical details that the statement entailed. The act itself was disturbing enough but knowing the graphic nuances was more than she could handle.

"How did you connect it to Jen's case, though?" asked Drue.

Detective Raymond's composure faltered, just enough to expose that he had been holding something back. Not out of maliciousness, but out of the desire to protect Jen. He looked young for a detective, she had noted, but not so young that he was exempt from the status of father. Maybe he had daughters of his own. Maybe that was why he had pursued her case with such diligence. He saw her and thought of them. That some man, someday, could do this same thing to one of them. It likely kept him up at night the way similar thoughts had done to her.

"As I said, many of the specifics of the both cases were the same. The perpetrator wore gloves and the mask both times. The pattern of the attack, and the approximate location, were the same. And …" he looked steadily, sympathetically, at Jen, sucking in a deep breath "The other young woman bears a striking resemblance to you, Jen. Same physical type, same hair. Even your faces look a little bit alike."

Jen tried to swallow the dry lump in her throat, feeling as if it were obstructing her air way, choking her. The words translated into something dark her mind, a language she could not and did not want to understand. Still, her eyes, however unsure, were questioning when they focused back on Detective Raymond's, inadvertently asking him to continue. To explain.

"Upon talking to him, the department psychiatrist learned that part of the reason he sought that particular young woman out was because of an underlying preoccupation with you personally."

"He knew who I was?" she asked weakly. Suddenly, she did not want hear his name. There would be know denying the reality that was slowly creeping into her brain.

"He said he worked at a radio station with you. A young man by the name of…Charlie."

That was the other shoe. And it had dropped hard, smashing her like an unsuspecting ant under its thick sole.

Charlie Todd had been obsessed with her. He did not have a crush on her, he did not like her, he was not in love with her. He was suffering from a full blown psychosis, and she was the source of it.

How had she missed it?

His infatuation had been nothing more than an annoyance to her, a fly to be smacked away. Of course she caught him staring at her from time to time, and he always interjected himself into her down time, while she played blocks of music or during commercial breaks, trying to strike up conversation with her. Never had she seen any danger in it.

It was only when Detective Raymond began to itemize the findings they made in Charlie's dormitory - numerous pictures of her and a journal in which Charlie outlined the details of his fantasies involving the two of them - that Jen started to feel an old, familiar panic. Now, though, there was a face attached to the fear. A face that she had known all along. A face that had followed her everywhere. To her bus stop, possibly riding the same bus. To her house, where she slept and shared time with the people she loved most. Had he followed she and Jack to and from every place that they went? Had he gone as far as waiting until she was gone and watching her Grams as well? The thought of that was worse than anything else that he could have done to her. She did not want to think of Charlie having pictures of her, let alone pictures of her loved ones adorning some sick, makeshift shrine that he stared at, and probably did things far more disgusting than that, in the dark shadows of a sleepless night.

Then there was Drue. He was absorbing every word that Raymond was saying, trying to tear apart the obvious meaning to them and find the sense in any of it. If Charlie had stalked her, then he had known about Drue and their friendship. Ironic, she thought. Something she had tried desperately to keep secret had been known all along. Had it been seeing her with another guy, time after time, that set him off? Had he been at the party and witnessed their fight before slipping away to follow her, seeing her vulnerability as an opportune time to set his plans for them in motion?

Raymond finally fell silent, taking the noise in Jen's head with him.

"I can't believe it was him," she said. "He was always so friendly." But never too friendly. Never giving any sign of the disturbance that lay behind a pretty veneer.

"In situations like these, victims usually know their attackers. Usually it _is _someone close." Jen thought she saw him shoot Drue an apologetic look, but she couldn't be sure. At the moment, she couldn't be sure of anything. "Truth of the matter is, there was really no way for you to see this coming. From what the doctor has told us, he was very methodical about not letting any of this be known. He had no roommate and he kept any evidence hidden away. To the naked eye, Charlie Todd was your average college freshman with a crush on the girl he who worked with him."

She did not want to think about him talking about her to his friends, or to anyone at all. "At least you caught him," she said. "So now what? Do I have to testify or something?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that made her as uneasy as he appeared to be. "Well, that is a definitely possibility. But you never saw his face and couldn't identify him in a line up, you were the object of his obsession, for lack of a better description, and you may be called as a witness to tell your account of what happened to you. But I have to warn you…it is unlikely that he will face any charges regarding your case, I'm afraid."

"Why not?" hissed Drue, suddenly animate and angry.

"As I've told you before, the evidence in her case is lacking."

"The guy admitted to what he did, didn't he? And you have all that stuff you found in his room."

"He admitted very little, actually. He talked about her in a way that, paired with what evidence we did find, made it sound very much like he was the one who attacked her. But we can't prove it. And since we can't prove that he attacked her, it is unlikely that there would be a stalking charge brought against him. He would have had to intimidate her in someway, making her afraid for her well-being."

"He's done that though! Everyday since he beat her up in an alley, she has been afraid. That doesn't count?"

"I'm sorry, but since he did not do it directly, it doesn't count in a legal sense. All we can prove is that he attacked and raped another girl who looks just like her. Hopefully, that will be enough to put him away. Hopefully, the judge will allow the prosecutor to include the information from Jen's case to prove a motive." He looked back at Jen. "We're going to do everything we can, I promise you, to put this guy away for a long time."

Jen looked up from her hands. "I understand. You can only do as much as the law allows. Thank you for coming by to tell me, Detective Raymond," she said, standing up in an effort to usher him from the house though she could barely control the wobble of her legs.

He nodded, following her to the door, turning back momentarily. "I'll call when I get more information."

She smiled half-heartedly and closed the door behind him. As she turned around, she parsed the room, not looking for anything specific, just a point that would allow her to focus her concentration on something.

Drue stood up, though hesitated as he moved towards her. "I….that's all unbelievable."

"I'm going to go up to my room," she said in response. "I just want to be alone."

He stepped back, freeing a path between her and the stairs. "Okay. I'll be around if you need anything."

_***_

Thumbing absently through the pages of next semester's requisite text was not the same as actual studying, she told herself. Nor was studying a book on contemporary American literature going to help her find the answers, the solace, she sought. It wasn't even going to give her the necessary distraction she had intended when she had picked the book off of her desk. There was no stopping the force that Charlie had become from invading her every thought.

All along, she had allowed herself to believe that once he was caught, she would never again having to worry that he, whoever she had thought he was, would be waiting to hurt her again. He couldn't be everybody if he was just one man. But now that he was just one man - one boy - his existence was impossible to overlook.

She had known him all along, without ever knowing she did, and it brought her the exact opposite of relief.

She pushed the book onto the floor and wrapped herself in a ball.

_***_

Drue retraced the same spot on the counter once more with the damp cloth, oblivious to the fact that he had wiped it several times already. There was nothing to do but meander about the house, attempting to make himself feel useful. He could not sit and wait for Jen to call upon him, commissioning him for a task that he knew he was inadequately prepared to take. Holding her hand was easy enough. Part of him reveled in it. Offering her sanctuary by promise of safety, though, was not something he could so easily provide.

"I doubt that counter has ever been cleaner."

Drue looked up to see Mrs. Ryan - who had recently insisted upon him calling her Grams, like everyone else - standing in the doorway, her arms folded.

"I didn't see you there," he said.

"Obviously." She smirked slightly, an expression she and Jen shared.

"Did you need help bringing groceries in?"

"That can wait, I think. At least until you tell me what seems to be troubling you," she said, sitting down at the dining room table.

He could not help but be a bit in awe of Grams, while still somewhat intimidated. Always so poised, so caring. She never drew lines of prejudice based on what she knew of a person's past, but was still aware that those pasts were important parts of who people became. Having never known true maternal kindness or nurture, Drue was still astonished that she had welcomed him so freely into her exclusive inner circle and the idea that she could care about him was still foreign. But it was quite clear to him that she did and not just for Jen's sake.

He sat down across from her, his hands clenched together to make a tightly folded fist. "The detective working Jen's case stopped by while you were out this morning."

She elevated her head slightly, pursing her lips, as if to weight the importance of his words. "He had new information to offer, I presume?"

"Yeah. They caught the guy they think is the one who attacked Jen." He heard her inhale through her nose. "It was some kid who worked at the radio station with her. Apparently he was, like, obsessed and had all these pictures of her, and this journal about how they were meant to be together."

He stopped himself from repeating Detective Raymond's description of the journal's contents. No matter how strong she was, no grandmother needed to hear the sickening plans some sick kid laid out for her granddaughter.

"Thank God they caught him."

"The thing is…they may not be able to bring any charges against him in Jen's case since there wasn't much physical evidence that he attacked her. All they have is the other girl he attacked who looked exactly like her. Those are the only crimes they can get him for." The anger bubbled around the edge of each word. "They can't even get him on stalking with all of the stuff they found in his dorm because never overtly threatened Jen."

Her neck creaked a bit as she shook her head. Her eyes were moist with what he could only imagine was a mix of gratitude and pain that rivaled his own tangled emotions. "How did Jennifer handle of this?"

"She half-listened to what he was saying. Her mind probably started racing after she found out who it was. After he left, she said she wanted to be alone and I wasn't going to fight her."

"You did the best thing for her. It worries me that she has spent so much time alone but I also cannot begin to understand the overwhelming burden this situation has placed on her. She is so young, too young to know of life what she does. Everything should be full of excitement for her at a time like this because everything is just beginning. Yet, this incident has derailed all of that." He felt like there was an unsaid accusation in her words, though he knew she felt no animosity toward him. But if he hadn't been the person he was, as persistent as he had been with the lifestyle they'd once led, maybe Jen would not known so much of that darker side of life. It had all begun long before they met but he'd perpetuated it, agitated that urge, that need, to kill one's self in the worst way possible. Instead of helping her face the demons, he helped her to make them disappear. In trying to purge his own pain, he had managed to drag her down with him.

"I feel like this is my fault, Grams," he said plainly.

She looked at him with stern disregard. "Remove that thought from your head this very instant. There is no time for it and such an idea is categorically untrue. All of you children have spent far too much time blaming yourselves. It is the fault of this boy and whoever led him to believe that his behavior was acceptable."

He was quiet in his denial. He was no more likely to convince her than she had been in convincing him. He agreed on the important point, though. There was no time for his self-pity. His focus must be Jen and how to help her now.

"You've been through a lot more with Jen than I have. How did you help?"

"This may surprise you, but Jennifer is quite simple in that regard. All you have to do is be there with her. Support her like you have been doing these last few weeks. She will appreciate that more than anything."

"It doesn't seem like enough. And even if it is…Jen and I are complicated. I do not want her to latch on to me simply because I am her protector of the moment. That kind of hero worship fades over time."

Her face softened, the lines disappearing, as she laid her hand on Drue's arm. "What she feels for you stretches far beyond something so trivial. From what I have seen, my granddaughter needs you and she hardly lets herself need anyone. What's more, she wants you here. How that all translates in her mind, I am not sure. But I imagine it is as close to love as she can fathom."

"Wouldn't that be nice," was all he could say.

Gram's stood, patting his arm and kissing the top of his head. "Loving you is not so hard as you imagine it to be, Drue. When the heart has time to fully heal, I imagine that Jennifer will not be the only one to realize it."

***

The sky was dark before Drue ventured up the stairs, pausing momentarily at Jen's door. He had wrestled with his better judgment all afternoon, weighing what Grams had said against what Jen had insisted upon. The damage had been done; all he could do was better or worsen the situation. The unknown was how much worse he could possibly make everything because he knew that the better would be minimal at best.

"Jen?" He felt a bit of an idiot, but he still preferred talking to her door over knocking.

"Come in." The quick response left him equal parts satisfied in his triumph and wary in procedure.

He had never given a thought to what her room would look like, not even in the weeks past when he slept right over it, so he could not say it was nothing or everything he'd expected. It was similar to her room in Capeside, with the except of the flowered, yellow wallpaper. In its place was a neutral shade of pale green, which did not suit Jen at all. The color had likely come with the house and she had choose to cover the walls with posters and art in lieu of the labor intensive task of painting. The desk was organized clutter, as was the bookshelf in the far corner. Everything anyone wanted to know about Jen's musical and literary taste could be found in either place.

"I heard Grams' voice early. Is she still home?" Jen asked.

Drue made his way over to the far end of her bed, making sure to leave plenty of room between their two seated positions. "No. She had plans with Mr. Smalls for the evening. She said she wouldn't be home tonight, and told me to tell you she loved you and would see you tomorrow."

Jen was silent for a moment. "Did you tell her?"

"I had to. She asked me what was wrong and, as I'm sure you know, it's impossible to lie to her, no matter how good you are at it."

"What did she say?"

"She was pretty composed."

"That's Grams for you. Always a rock."

"She also scolded me, well us, really, for blaming ourselves for all of this. And she told me I should just be here for you."

Jen stared out the window. If she had ever doubted that she could be more thankful to her Grams, she dispelled the notion upon hearing Drue's words. Grams had asked him for what she could not, knowing it was exactly what she needed. She had also, somehow, managed to convince him to put aside whatever other feelings he was mixed about and focus on the matter at hand. Jen often wondered what power it was that Grams had over people that allowed her to do and say just the right things at the right times, convincing people to see the underlying importance in everything. She could turn even the most narcissistic person selfless, so it would have taken her little effort to sway Drue.

"Do you think he came here after the fact?" she asked, her voice steeped with sad irony.

"What?"

"Do you think that even after he attacked me, he still followed me around? I mean, he knew where I lived and where I hung out. I always talked about great places to go in Boston during my radio show and to other people who worked there. Everything I know of Boston, he knows."

"Jen…"

"And after I stopped showing up to work, after I stopped going out, I wonder if he still skulked about, looking for a new way into my life. If he sat out in front of the house for hours, just waiting to see me. Before I thought it was just an assault on my body, and that was horrible enough. I didn't think it could get much worse. But my whole life, everything about me, was something he felt like he could take. And he did. Everything about me, he knows. That's worse."

"That's only partially true," said Drue, tucking her under his arm without hesitation. "Yes, he knows things that make you feel unsafe and that's pretty terrifying for you. I couldn't understand it if I tried. But…he obviously doesn't know how tough you are and definitely doesn't know that you've never been a coward. He didn't seem to realize that you've got a whole life to live and you were going to do it whether he was around or not. That was his mistake, Jen. He didn't realize that he wasn't going to break you down to the point where he would get to have you."

"It all sounds nice, doesn't it? Such grand, sweeping testaments to my character." She stayed close and quiet for several minutes. "What if they let him out, Drue? What if he doesn't go to jail? Or what if he does but gets out on good behavior or some other technicality?"

He wanted to have the answers, the ones that would save her the agony of wondering and worrying about such things for the rest of her life. But all he could manage was to hold her tighter.

"I'm really scared." She buried her face into his chest, the cotton of his shirt muffling the sounds of her voice.

"I know." He stroked her hair. "But tonight you'll be safe because, as Detective Raymond said, he is being held without bail. And I'm not leaving you."

"You really aren't, are you?" she asked, her words coming out in a sigh.

"Not unless, or until you ask me to."

She scoffed. "That won't happen. As tough and brave as you think I am, I lack the strength to ask you to go."

Though it was not the answer he has asked her for in the past, he accepted it as something.

"So what else did you and Grams talk about?" "She actually said the craziest thing."

"Oh?"

"She said, 'Loving you is not so hard as you imagine it to be, Drue'."

Jen frowned. "That's not so crazy."

"It's the way she said it," he insisted. "It felt like she was saying it because she knew it to be true. Almost like she…"

"Loves you," Jen offered.

"Yeah, that."

"I don't doubt for a second that she's grown to love you. Just like she did with Jack and with Dawson and with Pacey. And, she's right, it's not hard to love you."

"Just hard to say it." He broke away from her, attempting to shield his disappointment in his own words. "Uh…I have to call my mom, let her know her precious baby boy is in one piece. Then it's off to the attic with me. It's been a long day, and talking to my mom won't help matters so I'll probably just pass out early tonight."

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah. See you."

***

A chill shuddered just beneath Jen's skin as she stood at the bottom of the attic stairs. There was no question of what she was doing there, why she had come. It may have been damnable, considering the juncture they were at, but her alternatives had been exhausted. She had attempted but could not be force sleep; tea, television, and the sound of waterfalls had been useless. The abruptness of Drue's departure stood at the forefront of every passing thought. Could it have been hearing the word but not its meaning been a cruel tease for him, or was it that he knew its meaning but could not believe it coming from her, or anyone? He refused to vacate her head, but it was the absence of his closeness that made her long for something she had hardly thought about in months.

The need was so strong that it scared her how much a simple kiss on the forehead or an arm around her could make her yearn to be touched. And not just by any hands - Drue held the monopoly. She had cringed away from him more than enough times in the past weeks to make him believe there was something wrong with him. That he was at fault. In her room, with his arm around her, however, something had changed. It was in that moment, she knew. When he pulled away, the want for it back was immediate. She did not want to shy away from any part of him anymore.

She climbed the stairs slowly, the aged bellow of the wood undoubtedly alerting him to her presence. Even in the sparse light of the lamp, she could see his head turn and watch her approach.

"Hey," he said, setting his headphones to the side. She was wearing nothing but an old flannel shirt that draped over her in a shapeless silhouette. It wasn't this, though, that made her intentions clear. It was the distance she kept between them. And the shy smile he had never before seen.

"Hi," she responded, climbing on the bed, snuggly saddling her thighs at his waist

He propped himself up, his back cold against the slatted, exterior wall of Grams' attic. He stroked her cheek with his index finger, then skillfully began sliding each of the shirt's buttons free. His hand moved through the part, cupping her breast, his thumb treading lightly over the skin. Her head swayed to the side and a breath, dry and raspy, stuck in the back of her throat.

He dragged his nails gently over the skin between her breasts, tracing absent paths between her ribs, and then her stomach. She could feel the burn of her nerves firing off. Every last thought, worry, and fear, was falling from her head and all she could understand was the downward rush of heat, the throb of blood pulsating at her core.

He did not bother to ask if she wanted to leave the shirt on. He knew the concealment heightened her security and he wanted her to feel at ease. Seeing her in front of him, exposing even this much of herself to a scrutinizing eye made her just as vulnerable as complete exposure.

He touched her face, her gaze stealing away any words of great meaning. He had to say something, though. He could not let this pass without it.

"Jen, I don't…I want…" But the jumble of broken pieces were stunted, squelched, and impossible to fit together. No combination could compete with the sight, the feel, of her.

Before he could worry about such an inadequacy, he saw the tear careen down her cheek, disappearing under the line of her jaw. He leaned forward, straining his back to be closer. He kissed her eyelids, coaxing her to open them and look back at him. "Baby," he'd never called anyone that because it always sounded awkward, wrong, when he heard anyone else say it to anyone less than her, "Just tell me what you need. Anything. It's yours."

She knew it, without him ever having to say so. He would have told her a thousand times over if she had asked, because he was that sure of his own feelings, but she never had because she was equally unsure of her own.

What did she need?

She wanted to intrude upon his body the way he was her head. She wanted him to be as lost as she was while finding meaning, coherence, in what he had been missing.

She wanted him to feel the depth of her as it had never been felt, by anyone, before. When he moved inside of her, she wanted him to feel something beyond sensation. She wanted him to experience the encompassing void of ecstasy raking his nerves, his unconscious feeling.

Want. Could it be the same thing as need?  
For now, she thought, it has to be.

"Everything you have. Even if it kills you. I want it."

He pulled her face in, kissing her easily.

She eased herself over, then around him. The tight rush of him passing through her did not break the silence. There was stillness the effort of her movement. She was subdued by her own complacency. This was it. This perfect safety. His eyes on her, the gentle touch of his hands guiding her hips. No past. No pain. Just him there with her. And she didn't have to be afraid.

She let his name - her saving grace in a single sound - pass to his ears in a low, withering moan. It caused him to free fall, pulling her hard and fast to him.

Every misunderstanding between them was amended in the expression of their union. She knew Drue and he knew her, more honestly as they grasped at one another, collaborating in one perfect climax.

This was all she needed. Ever_._

* * *

**Note: The extent of my legal knowledge does not extend beyond what any person can learn from watching shows like Law and Order: SVU or NYPD Blue. The details about Jen's case, from a legal standpoint, are likely inaccurate which is fine with me since I am not writing for Harvard Law Review here. Just eager Drue/Jen fans. So don't hold my ignorance of the law against me. Or my fellow assassin will come after you with her whip. :P**

**Also, I only proofed this bad boy once so there are probably coherency/grammar/punctuation/etc. issues. I'll probably go back and fix them later but I'm tired right now.**


	9. Three Simple Words

Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.

**Revisionist History**

**Chapter 9:Three Simple Words**

Morning in the attic was noticeably colder than it was in any other part of the house. Even with the warmth of the sun beaming through the single, dirty window, a draft had settled into the corners, escaping upward from the floorboards. An uncomfortable chill clung to the exposed skin of Jen's arm. Stirring slightly, she tucked the comforter more tightly around herself, draping her arm over Drue's naked torso in the process. He squirmed, trying to brush her arm away, and mumbled something about keeping the cold to herself. Still partially asleep, she maneuvered her head to nuzzle his neck, dragging her teeth gently across the skin.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"No, Jen," he groaned, attempting to roll on his side and away from her. "It's too early. Go back to sleep."

"Oh, come on," she coaxed, nudging the sheet to the side, running her fingers slowly from his knee to his upper thigh. "It's time to wake up."

He crooked his head to the side, facing her with an exhausted expression. "What, no dirty puns? Do you save those all for the afternoon?"

"You suffer from the false impression that you're worthy of them," she teased.

"You cut me deeply," he said, placing a feigning hand on his heart.

They exchanged a grin.

Could it really be so simple, Jen wondered as they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Being there, next to him, felt as right as it had the previous night. There had been no need to pour over inane details to fulfill any obligatory post-sex conversation. Lying next to each other, their bodies separate but still touching enough so that intimacy was not lost, gave them ease enough to make words unnecessary. When each of them fell asleep, it was perfect and dreamless, the unconscious incapable of offering them anything that they had not already given to one another.

Silence, though, could not last indefinitely, especially outside of the four walls surrounding them. They would have to confront everything that had happened and everything that had the potential to happen. And it would have to be soon. The new school semester began in a matter of days, and everyone would be returning home before that. There would need to be some kind of resolution.

She looked over to find him fully awake, staring at her with an admiration she felt she may never live up to. In Drue's mind, everything was already resolved.

"Well?" she asked.

"I was just thinking about moving back into the dorm and how all of that is going to change whatever is going on here."

"Is that you're subtle way of asking me what, exactly, is going on here?"

"No," he admitted. "I just figured it was a reaction to the news yesterday."

"I could never sleep with you simply because I was afraid. I care about you too much for that."

"Okay," he said, his guilt for such an assumption obvious, "Well, then, I'm an idiot and this was my not so subtle way of asking what, exactly, is going on here. Or, maybe, what's going to happen next."

She slid closer to him, their bodies separated by only the sheet. "You're not an idiot. You asked me that before but I never gave you a straightforward answer, and you have every right to wonder." She sighed heavily, taking his hand in hers. "I want to give you everything you need, Drue. Right here and now. But I don't want it to be because I have to. It's like…well, you know how they say that you should save your first time for the right person, and so many of us think there's a perfect, predestined moment when we know that it's 'right'?"

"Yeah. But the time is never the age of 14, and the place is never in a school maintenance closet."

"Or before you're technically a teenager, in the backseat of a taxi with some guy you barely know."

"Apparently, the only thing we weren't exposed to back then was the 'true love waits' after school special. And we definitely weren't learning about love and relationships through example."

"No wonder it's so hard to accept that we have these feelings, much less say them aloud," she finished. "I want to feel this way, and I want to tell you what it's like. I just don't want it to be set to a time line."

"I never wanted you to feel like it was. And I don't want you to feel like I'm pushing you. I just…I want to say…I love you."

The words caused her stomach to tense and her face to flush against his palm. Words of her own were impossible, mostly because she could not remember any; the only ones she knew were the ones she had heard him speak. She wanted to repute them but she was locked there, unable to ignore what she was feeling, the enormity of the past year and all those preceding it. Her emotions for Drue were always mixed, fluctuating between wayward fascination, profane loathing, and sympathy that never failed to surprise. Never once has she imagined that love could, much less would, stem from that. But his assured words confirmed otherwise.

"I…I…"

"Don't force it."

She leaned into him, kissing his chest, his neck, and finally his mouth. When she rolled back, she pulled him atop her. The weight of his body made her feel fearless. Like she could say anything. Still, she didn't. "Would you be offended, or feel used, if all I could say right now was that I wanted you to make love to me?"

He smiled, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I don't think I could ever feel anything but pleased when I hear you say that." He pressed his lips to her throat. "And I will always gladly oblige you."

***

He was relentless, Jack mused as Pacey continued to pepper him with questions. Little had he known that 20 questions and beyond would be the car game of choice when he had asked Pacey to pick him up from the airport. He barely had time to answer one before another came out of Pacey's mouth, most of them about Andie. Not that Jack minded terribly. The constant chatter actually reminded him of his twin and made her feel less far gone than she now was. It was hard to miss her when her male equivalent in verbosity was seated right next to him. It was also easier to avoid the confrontation awaiting him at home.

It had been easier the farther away, both in time and in distance. With Andie as his enthusiastic tour guide, Jack's mind barely had time to process the beauty he was witnessing, the window into another place, much less to worry about what had transpired between him and Jen. In the rare instances that the thought of it sprang to him, Andie always had reassuring words for him. She insisted upon reminding him of what she saw in the two of them, the camaraderie and love, that had allowed her to come Italy without the worry that she was leaving Jack behind. Jen was an honorary McPhee, Andie had teased, and Jack an honorary Lindley/Ryan. No fight over some mistaken words - for Andie could not believe that Jen would ever say what she said with the intention of accusing or hurting Jack - was going to change that. Nor was a burgeoning relationship with Drue Valentine.

As much as he hated it, Andie had pushed Jack to see the potential happiness that Drue would allow Jen. That he had already allowed her. He could not deny that Drue was good for Jen, and he could not help but remember that he, himself, had begun to repair the damage in his own relationship with Drue at one point. He did not dislike Drue, nor did he blame Drue for what happened anymore than he blamed himself. It had been the shock of what had happened to Jen combined with unnecessary lies that had left Jack feeling so angry. Had he not been slapped with all of that at once, he may not have taken what Jen said as he did. The words may not have been so harsh, so deadly, upon hitting his ears. He would have had time to come up with a rational reaction and possibly a response.

Now he was searching for the key, Pacey still talking his ear off, knowing that she would be on the other side of the door. There was some satisfaction in the potential for resolution. A calm was resting minutely just below his breast bone and for half a second, as he turned his key, felt that Andie was right. That everything was going to be okay.

Two pairs of eyes fell on the door as the lock clicked and the laughter fell away into an undetermined silence as two new pairs of eyes stared back at them. Drue half-expected Jen to jump, not out of fear but to avoid explaining their huddled embrace under the afghan. She did not, however, draw her legs back from where they lay across his lap. She did not take her hand from his. The only movement she made was to pull her head out of its resting place on his chest and level her gaze. He was surprised that it was his confidence that wavered, that he was the one who felt the urge to squirm away. He did not want to hide but he also did not want to rub anything in anyone's face.

"Hello," said Jen. Her voice was neutral. She knew not to pretend that all was fine but her goal was not to antagonize either. Watching her, and feeling a bit in awe, Drue caught glimpses of her Grams.

Jack's expression tightened involuntarily, his face contorting into an emotion that was unrecognizable, neither good nor bad. "Hi." He glanced from her face to Drue's. "You look comfortable,"

"I am," Jen said. "You look like you had a long, but good, trip."

Pacey, whose chatter had followed the laughter, focused on Drue and both felt as if they did not belong. "Hey, Drue. Is there any food in the kitchen, man, because I'm starving?"

"Uh, yeah. Grams went shopping yesterday. She rearranged things in there a bit over the holiday so…" Without finishing, he walked into the kitchen, Pacey taking the cue to follow easily.

Jack watched them move away, partly to avoid Jen's eyes now. "He calls her Grams now?" Jack asked.

"She asked him to. It took her a few weeks but she eventually broke him down. You know how persuasive she can be," Jen said.

"He's been around a lot then?"

"He's actually been staying here with us. His family plans for the holidays fell through and I think Grams liked the idea of having him around to keep me company. And…" She paused for a moment, drawing Jack's attention to her. She wanted to be thoughtful, while saying the thing that would enable Jack to fully comprehend the gravity of her feelings for Drue. "It was good that he was here. He has helped me a lot, especially over the last few days. So much has happened that I really haven't had time to process it myself. Luckily for me, he has taken it upon himself to understand everything - the situations, me."

Without giving him the chance to inquire, or not, Jen began to describe the events of the previous day. She revealed Charlie as her attacker. His name and face would be common knowledge soon enough and it would not take long for all of her friends to wonder whether or not the case they read about in the newspapers or the trial that was reported on the evening news was somehow connected to her. When the details of Charlie's former life began to surface, as they usually did in cases such as these, everyone would be able to guess that he was her attacker as well. She did not want for Jack to question. As her best friend, she wanted him to know.

Her purpose was not to use the news as a cure-all either. Their relationship could not stand to simply rebound based on emotional shock of hearing such news. The mending had to come from a place of necessity on both parts. Jack had to know, from Jen, that she did not just need him now, to ease the stress and pain of coping with the situation, but she needed him always. He had to be aware that, no matter what, Drue was not taking his place, that he was as important to her as he was before Drue had come back into her life.

"That's…unbelievable," Jack said, his words lacking the connotation he felt they warranted.

"I bet my face looked the same way yours does right now when the detective told us yesterday," she replied, placing her hand on his. Her action was more tentative than Drue's had been the day before. It was difficult for her to think that she and Drue were closer, more comfortable, than she and Jack; she felt a bit like a traitor. She would have to learn, though, her bonds with other men, did not change that which she shared with Jack. Nothing could ever change that. She loved him as much now as she had before. Holding his hand, she convinced herself that the same remained true for him.

He gripped her hand back, but only lightly. "It's a lot to take in." After a thoughtful moment, he added, "I'm glad you weren't alone. I just…I wish I could've been here for you, Jen."

"You are here now. And you know the truth. That's what really counts."

"The whole truth?" he said quietly, his eyebrows rising slightly.

His meaning was clearer than any answer she could possibly formulate. "You know as much as I do. He is….my boyfriend, I suppose. We have not stuck a label on it but most people would probably call him that."

Another pause. "Do you love him, Jen?"

"I do. But, you know me. I can't ever say what I feel because that would make it tangible. Whenever something is in my grasp, I feel like it is bound to be destroyed."

"Don't you think if that were bound to happen, it would have already? I mean, you guys have broken plenty of times but you're both still in it. Why be afraid of something that has happened before, something you know you can fix? Especially when you can be happy."

She smiled, "I missed this. I missed you being the rational half of us." She paused. "Are we going to be okay, Jack?"

"Andie seems to think so. She said that people who love each other always have misunderstandings but those always lead to people finding greater meaning in their love."

"Seeing as she's smarter than all of us, I guess that settles it, doesn't it."

"It was settled long before that, Jen," he said, kissing the top of her head as he walked towards the kitchen. "I just needed to stop being stubborn long enough to realize that."

***

"That guy?!" Pacey hissed, food practically falling from his mouth. "Weird and wormy, sure, but a full blown stalker?"

Drue's head bobbed, a gesture without much substantiation. "None of us saw that coming. Jen is beating herself up about it."

"She shouldn't…and she didn't look such a mess sitting with you on the sofa. In fact, she actually looked happier than I've seen her look in a long time," Pacey observed.

Drue had no response to Pacey's comment. As much as he wanted to believe he was the source of the perceived shine to Jen's smile, or whatever it was that tipped Pacey off to the positive change in her, he had a difficult time accepting it.

"I told her I loved her this morning," he blurted out.

"Bold," said Pacey, after taking a long, thoughtful slug of soda. He was equal parts impressed and surprised at Drue's testament. Drue never came off as being afraid to take a chance, but Pacey never imagined him to be the type who was loose with his feelings. It was likely, thought, that he was not being. It was likely that he saw what Pacey did - that Jen deserved to hear those words from someone who said them, felt them, in earnest. Though he could never understand what happened in Drue's head or heart, he knew that Drue meant everything he gave to Jen. "What did she say?"

"She asked me to rock her world."

Pacey put a hand up, his expression turning. "Hey, if we're going to be friends, none of that, okay?"

Drue relented, nodding his acknowledgement. "She didn't say much and we…well, like I said, nothing much was said."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Wait, I guess. I mean, it's been this long already. What's a little longer?"

"And if she doesn't say it?"

Drue had wondered that himself as he watched Jen sleep away their morning encounter. "Then she doesn't. It changes nothing for me, at least not right now. All I can do is hang onto what I have. Her wanting me near is as good as her saying anything. I didn't think so before. I didn't realize that those words were more about me feeling validated than her actually meaning them. She doesn't want to be pushed, so I'm not pushing.

Pacey could not help but smile. "Ever think she doesn't deserve that much from you?"

"Judas."

"All the same, the question stands."

Drue chuckled. "You're the last person on earth to think that there is anything from anyone in this entire world that that girl doesn't deserve. Some great celestial being could have created a universe full of beautiful things, just for that girl, and you hold her up so high that none of it would be enough for her in your eyes. She deserves everything good, according to you, and she deserves much better than me, surely."

"I thought so once," Pacey said, seriously. "You were the anti-thesis of the guy I wanted for her. In fact, everyone has said that you were wrong for Jen. Including Jen herself."

"And now?"

"Now…well, you are everything the girl wants and needs, even if she's not willing to say so just yet. And with all you've done, and are willing to do, for her, you're more than good enough, man."

"Thanks, Witter."

The silence laid easily between them for only half a minute before Jack entered the kitchen, passing a glance in Drue's direction.

"So…I guess a lot happened while I was gone," Jack said.

Pacey's eyes locked on Drue.

"Yeah, these last few days have been a bit of a whirlwind for her. It's good you are back. It'll be good for her to have her friends around again," said Drue, looking back at Jack.

Jack, not entirely sure what to do, stepped towards Drue. "From all she said, she hasn't been lacking in the friend department."

"You guys are okay, then, I take it?" he asked, avoiding Jack's statement.

"Yeah, we're okay." He paused. "And so are you and I. Or, we will be, since you're likely going to be around more."

"That'll definitely make things easier," he said, standing to face Jack. He was not hostile, or confrontational, but he felt that he had to show Jack the respect of saying what he was about to directly too him. "I love her, Jack."

"I know. And she feels the same."

Drue nodded and walked away. Two minor victories – Jack and Pacey. Knowing that they knew, and that they believed she felt the way Drue wanted her to, brought its own sort of satisfaction. Now the test of patience was the only one he had to pass.

***

She looked perfectly content, resting lazily against the wall, half reading, half dozing off. He could not say for sure, but he thought he saw her smiling, or half smiling. Either way, he could not deny that she was beautiful.

"Good book?" he asked, feeling strangely awkward speaking to her.

"Hmm…ah, yes. So good it is putting me to sleep." She grinned, setting the book down and waving him over.

He climbed onto the bed, facing her, his hip touching hers. "I doubt it's the book."

She smiled. "You're right. It feels good to have Jack back."

He reached out, stroking the ends of her hair. "It's good to see you happy again."

"Again?"

"Yeah. I mean, nothing makes you happier than Jack does."

Jen shook her head. "That's not true. Not entirely."

"No?"

"You make me as happy as Jack does. You're just as good for me as he is."

He could only force have flat smile.

"You know, through all of this, you've been the one constant," Jen said, twisting her fingers awkwardly around the corners of her comforter.

"How do you mean?"

"Even when you weren't here, right after the attack, I always felt your presence. My thoughts always came back to you and how, of all the people I have ever known, you've been the one who has known me. Good, bad, ugly…you saw beyond the persona of Jen Lindley that has so easily developed in the minds of all. You see the human embodiment of an unknown entity." She glanced sideways, her eyes scanning his reaction, trying to read who he was through his expression. When he gave nothing, she continued. "I would think of the first day I saw you in New York, sitting alone on that bench in Tompkins Square Park. How harmless you looked. You always looked that way, every time I saw you again for the first time. In Capeside, then here in Boston. It is the way you looked the night you knocked on my window, seeking shelter. But I've come to realize you're anything but harmless. You shatter every convention that gives my life balance. You turn everything, and everyone, inside out and upside down. You are the personification of change. And that's what I've always needed. The promise of something different, something better."

She leaned forward and ran the back of her hand over his cheek. "You asked me what I needed last night in the attic, even though I think you knew."

He averted his eyes, shaking his head. "I didn't. I never have. Maybe if I had, I would have been able to give that to you instead of drugs or glib remarks. You wouldn't have been sent away if I had known. I wouldn't have lost you time and time again."

"Silly boy. Going to Capeside was the best thing to ever happen to me. I needed it to heal what was broken in me. But you coming back into my life gave me something more. You challenging my reality with my sordid past showed me that even if I broke again, there would be someone standing by me. You gave me the assurance that no matter what I did, I would be loved. You gave me hope. Hope that there would be more like you in my life." She kissed him, her whole heart behind the action. "Little did I know you were it. They can all love Jen Lindley. But you love me. That's all I ever needed."

This time she saw a tear streaking his cheek. She touched her thumb to the drop, shattering it. "I love you. Too. Back. Maybe even forever. Whichever way you'd like it, my love is yours to have."

He put his hand over hers, pressing it close. He had always wanted to feel that part of her, those words transforming one into the other. "That's all I need. To hear you say that. And mean it. And feel that it's the truth."

"Come here," she whispered as she pulled her blanket back. He climbed over next to her and twisted her into a tight embrace.

"This is a good day, isn't it?" Drue said, not able to contain his happiness.

Jen rested her head on his chest. "The best day."


	10. Epilogue

Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.

**Revisionist History**

**Epilogue**

Having only ever seen a courtroom on television before, she expected something different. She had tricked herself into believing that the presence of the jurors – a group of his peers along with hers – and the harsh, discerning glare of the judge would ultimately equate justice. That subtly impassioned persuasion on the part of the district attorney, combined with the forcible physical evidence, would cause everyone in the room to see the truth.

Standing there, though, after having listened to the testimonies of strangers, experts and laymen alike, she could not help but question what exactly the truth was…and she had been there. She had lain cold and alone in that dark place, fearing a million possibilities, yet she was having trouble discerning the propaganda being spewed in Charlie Todd's defense from what really happened to her. Parsing the now empty jury box with a sideways glance, she realized that if she had questioned the events, then there was a chance they had too.

The prosecution's star witness had not instilled much confidence in anyone's mind.

"Did you see the person who attacked you?" she had been asked.

A nervous shift in her seat, one that the whole room could see. "N-not his face, no."

"Then how can you be sure…"

The words had fallen quiet to Jen's ears, as she had watched the young girl stumble over herself, knowing her answers were not helping her case but she had been bound by a system of laws that could, in turn, set her attacker free. Jen had tried not to feel sorry for her because Jen herself wouldn't have wanted anyone to feel that way had she been on the stand. She was still trying and it was virtually impossible.

Olivia Halderman.

A name was the only thing that separated them. Jen felt as though she was seeing a murky reflection. Same blond locks, same hazel eyes, though Olivia's looked much sadder.

Those things made him chose her. Those things made her a victim.

Or the "only" victim.

Or no victim at all. At least, not in the public eye.

It all depended on the outcome.

Jen had not learned of Olivia's identity until she read it in the newspaper, and she had separated herself from the trial until she received a phone call from the Detective Raymond, making her aware that she might be called as a witness. She never was, nor had she ever expected to be. Her interest, however, was peaked after that and for two weeks, she sat in the back of the courtroom, making sure that her presence went largely unnoticed. Seeing her face may have spooked Olivia more than she already was.

Jen moved from the doorway of the courtroom as the space as it filled with new jurors so the next case could proceed. The hope of a swift verdict on Charlie's trial had faded away with the hours of the morning. Sitting on the edge of a concrete flowerbed near the courthouse stairs, Jen wrung her hands and her leg swung aimlessly, the back of her shoe making an odd scraping sound as it hit against the flowerbed wall. She had promised herself there would be no nerves, that she would be strong enough to handle the outcome, whatever it maybe. It was not a simple matter of her not appearing afraid – she was determined to not be afraid at all. She was not going to allow Charlie to cause her any further grief.

Waiting for the outcome, she realized, was about to become another story entirely.

"Hey," called an approaching voice. Jen jumped slightly, betraying herself to him. "Sorry. I missed my train and had to wait for the next one. You would think that after all of those years of living in the city, I would have mastered the finer points of mass public transit by now." He sat down next to her, kissing her temple and placing his arm around waist. "How'd it go?"

"I am not the one to ask that question, Drue. The only people who can really know are the ones sitting in the jury room."

Drue had no response, a condition that seemed to afflict him more often than not. It did not frustrate Jen, though, because she knew that he knew there was nothing to say for there was nothing Jen wanted to hear other than the words, "Guilty on all counts." So he simply let her lean in close and relax as much as she could. If all he could provide was a presence, he made sure that it would be a comfort as opposed to a hindrance.

"Thank you for coming," she said after a long silence.

"You're welcome," he replied, trying to fathom any place else he could have been. He had attempted to sit his last final exam that morning and could barely keep straight what subject he was being tested on. All he had wanted was to sit with her during the closing arguments, as he had sat with her every night when the evening news aired updates on the trial. Even after sitting through the live experience, she still watched the afterward analysis. And even though she had not once allowed him to go with her, he always knew to be at Grams, or back his dorm in case she showed up there, before 6 p.m.

Grams had worried that Jen was becoming too entrenched in the trial, worried that she would lapse into a depression much like the one she had after the initial attack. Drue assured her as well, telling her that Jen was simply attempting to find meaning in all of it, and, in a way vindicate herself. She had not said as much to him but he knew she felt a certain responsibility for what happened to Olivia, not only because they looked alike but because Jen could not protect her from what happened anymore than she could have helped herself. In her own way, Jen was trying to cope all over again and Drue never doubted that, in time, she would find a way. His cause to convince Grams was also helped by the fact that, of her own volition, Jen had decided to seek out individual counseling and she joined a support group. Knowing how difficult it was for Jen to do either thing, even though she had been to therapy prior, he had never pushed her before and only supported her after she made the choice.

And Jen knew how difficult all of it was for Drue. None of what they went through was what he had expected when he envisioned a relationship between them. That Jen knew. Even the normal days, the ones before the trial, were challenging for them. She did not, however, question his presence or his motives for staying. At some point, him loving her was enough of an answer and it was something she had grown to trust. There was never any worry that he would leave, because she knew she could never push him too far though she made a conscious effort not to. She also began to recognize certain behavior and read his distance or his absence as his need for space from the situation and not her. At times, her knowledge of him puzzled even her for he was not the Drue she had once known, yet he was. He was different, but at the same time not. All there was to make sense of with him was in the wondering but when she had ceased doing so, she found the answers that she needed.

Life, even in its worst moments, was better with Drue and Jen felt that deeply. It was a simplicity that helped her manage the hardest days.

"You know what? Let's go," she said suddenly, "Whatever happens, will happen. I don't need to be here for it. Right now, I just want to get in the car and drive to Capeside, for the weekend. Joey and Audrey will be there tonight, Pacey and Jack in the morning. Dawson will be there for a minute before he flights off for the summer. I want to be there, with them." She squeezed his hand. "And with you."

He was startled not by her enthusiasm but by what sparked behind her eyes. She wanted it to be a happy day even though it might not end as such. The verdict that would change her life would be waiting for her when she came back and he knew that she knew that. He also knew she could face it more readily knowing that, for a moment, she had found a way to make her own happiness instead of waiting for it to come around.

"Alright," he said as he took, "Let's go."

****

"Hello?"

"He-hello. Is this Jennifer Lindley?"

Her name, Jen thought, sounded so timid when whispered. "This is Jen."

A pause. "Oh, good. My name is Olivia. Halderman."

Jen watched her friends sitting lazily on the Leery's pier, legs swinging carelessly, laughter falling lightly on the warm, evening air. "Olivia. Of course. How are…" It seemed like a stupid question. How could she be, really?"

"I…hate to bother you and I normally would not have but I just…well, Detective Raymond went to your house looking for you to tell you the verdict and I asked if I could go along. When your grandmother said you were out of town, I asked for your number because I wanted to be the one to tell you."

A sharp inhale. "Okay," was all Jen could muster.

"It….they….I am going to be okay. So are you."

Jen could not feel the exhale. Nor the words of thanks and gratitude for Olivia's bravery.

"I…I could do it because Detective Raymond told me that someone else had been me months before and was living happily even though she couldn't testify. I owed it to us both." There was failing resolve in her tone and Jen knew that she was trying desperately to mean it. Yet she was triumphant and Jen knew that somewhere along the road there would be solace in that for Olivia.

"So, that's it. Again, didn't mean to bother you and I'll say bye now."

"Olivia," Jen said quickly.

"Yes?"

"Bother me any time. For any reason."

Jen could feel the gratitude in a simple, "Okay," and knew that beautiful faces and battles scars were not the only things that the two girls would share.

"Now that's a smile I haven't seen in awhile." She looked up to see him, grinning as he always did almost as if he could not help it. "Good news, I take it." He knew he did not have to ask. He knew what the smile meant and knowing that she felt light, that she was truly happy, made him more than happy.

"Very good."

He sat down next to her on the Leery's porch, gazing over at her Gram's old house. "I was thinking about this place and, how just a year ago, climbing up to that window," he pointed out the one that use to beam the clearest mornings into her bedroom, "sent everything into a bit of a tailspin."

She looked up at it, listening for the sounds she always use to hear when she sat staring out of it. The soft lap of Joey oaring her boat to Dawson's backdoor. The whine of the ladder under her weight and the scrape of the metal against old paint. The clang and woosh of the Leery's porch screen whenever Pacey was making a mad dash for the refrigerator. The rush of old pipes when Grams needed water to boil for tea. Yet, even with all of the sounds fresh in her mind, all she could hear was the breath of a boy sitting next to her, recalling a silly memory of a time that seemed too far away.

"It's a different place now," she said thoughtfully.

"It is. But you would go back if you could, wouldn't you?"

She smiled, twisting his fingers between her own, locking her eyes on his. "And give back the hot sex on my dresser? Not a chance, Valentine."

"I knew it! You tried to pretend you weren't seduced by me that first time but I knew the truth all along. You spent that whole summer pining for me, didn't you?"

She smirked. "Again, not a chance."

"Whatever you say, Jenny." He leaned in and kissed her gently.

"Okay," she retracted, "Maybe just a little."

* * *

**I know it probably seems...rushed. And that's because it is. I didn't really proof it either so it's probably full of mistakes. I just ran out of steam but wanted to finish. Hopefully, the story itself will make up for the epilogue. **


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